THE  LONE 
ADVENTURE 


HALLIWELL  SUTCLIFFE 


*r 


THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 


.  OF  CAMF.  imn»mr.  TO*  ANCTI.W 


THE 
LONE  ADVENTURE 


BY 
HALLIWELL   SUTCLIFFE 


GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 

Publishers  in  America  for  H  odder  &  Stoughton 


Copyright,  1911, 
By  George  H.  Do  ran  Company 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

PAGE 

I. 

THE  FIGHT  ON   THE  MOOR    .... 

.        .        .           I 

II. 

THE   NIGHT-RIDER        

...        24 

III. 

THE   HURRIED    DAYS          

...     45 

IV. 

THE   LOYAL  MEET        

...     66 

V. 

THE   HORSE-THIEF       

...     74 

VI. 

THE   PRINCE   COMES    SOUTH 

.     .     .     91 

VII. 

THE   HEIR    RETURNS          .        . 

.     .     .  104 

VIII. 

THE   ROAD   TO  THE  THRONE 

.       .       .    122 

IX. 

THE   STAY-AT-HOMES        

...    ISO 

X. 

HOW  THE  PIPES  PLAYED  DREARILY 

.       .       .182 

XI. 

THE   TALE   COMES    TO    WINDYHOUGH      . 

.       .       .    202 

XII. 

THE  GALLOP            

•       •       -    232 

XIII. 

THE   RIDING    IN     

.       .       .256 

XIV. 

THE   GLAD   DEFENCE           

.       .       .    263 

XV. 

THE   BRUNT   OF   IT       

.       .       .    28l 

XVI. 

THE    NEED   OF   SLEEP          

.       .       .    302 

XVII. 

THE   PLEASANT    FURY       

.       .       .    319 

XVIII. 

THE   RIDING   OUT          

•       •       •    330 

XIX. 

THE   FORLORN    HOPE          

.     •     .  343 

XX. 

THE   GLORY    OF    IT       

...  363 

XXI. 

LOVE    IN    EXILE    

...  383 

2133769 


THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  FIGHT  ON   THE   MOOR 

IN  a  gorge  of  the  moors,  not  far  away  as  the  crow  flies  from 
Pendle  Hill,  stood  a  grim,  rambling  house  known  to  the  heath- 
men  as  Windyhough.  It  had  been  fortified  once;  but  after- 
wards, in  times  of  ease,  successive  owners  had  thought  more  of 
dice  and  hunting  than  of  warfare,  and  within-doors  the  house 
was  furnished  with  a  comfort  that  belied  its  loop-holed  walls. 

It  stood  in  the  county  of  Lancaster,  famed  for  its  loyalty 
and  for  the  beauty  of  its  women — two  qualities  that  often  run 
together — and  there  had  been  Royds  at  Windyhough  since 
Norman  William  first  parcelled  out  the  County  Palatine  among 
the  strong  men  of  his  following.  The  Royd  pride  had  been 
deep  enough,  yet  chivalrous  and  warm-hearted,  as  of  men 
whose  history  is  an  open  book,  not  fearing  scrutiny  but  ask- 
ing it. 

The  heir  of  it  all — house,  and  name,  and  lusty  pride — came 
swinging  over  the  moor-crest  that  gave  him  a  sight  of  Windy- 
hough,  lying  far  below  in  the  haze  of  the  November  after- 
noon. It  was  not  Rupert's  fault  that  he  was  the  heir,  and  less 
strong  of  body  than  others  of  his  race.  It  was  not  his  fault 
that  Lady  Royd,  his  mother,  had  despised  him  from  infancy, 
because  he  broke  the  tradition  of  his  house  that  all  its  sons 
must  needs  be  strong  and  good  to  look  at. 

The  heir  stood  on  the  windy  summit,  his  gun  under  his 
arm,  and  looked  over  the  rolling,  never-ending  sweep  of  hills. 
The  sun,  big  and  ruddy,  was  dipping  over  Pendle's  rounded 
slope,  and  all  the  hollows  in  between  were  luminous  and  still. 
He  forgot  his  loneliness — forgot  that  he  could  not  sit  a  horse 
with  ease  or  pleasure  to  himself;  forgot  that  he  was  shy  of 
his  equals,  shy  of  the  country-folk  who  met  him  on  the  road, 


2  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

that  his  one  respite  from  the  burden  of  the  day  was  to  get  up 
into  the  hills  which  God  had  set  there  for  a  sanctuary. 

Very  still,  and  straight  to  his  full  height,  this  man  of  five- 
and-twenty  stood  watching  the  pageant  of  the  sun's  down- 
going.  It  was  home  and  liberty  to  him,  this  rough  land  where 
all  was  peat  and  heather,  and  the  running  cry  of  streams 
afraid  of  loneliness,  and  overhead  the  snow-clouds  thrusting 
forward  from  the  east  across  the  western  splendour  of  blue, 
and  red,  and  sapphire. 

He  shivered  suddenly.  As  of  old,  his  soul  was  bigger  than 
the  strength  of  his  lean  body,  and  he  looked  down  at  Windy- 
hough  with  misgiving,  for  he  was  spent  with  hunger  and  long 
walking  over  the  hills  he  loved.  He  thought  of  his  father, 
kind  always  and  tolerant  of  his  heir's  infirmities ;  of  his  mother, 
colder  than  winter  on  the  hills;  of  Maurice,  his  younger 
brother  by  three  years,  who  could  ride  well,  could  show 
prowess  in  field-sports,  and  in  all  things  carry  himself  like 
the  true  heir  of  Windyhough. 

A  quick,  unreasoning  hatred  of  Maurice  took  him  unawares 
— Esau's  hate  for  the  supplanter.  He  remembered  that  Mau- 
rice had  never  known  the  fears  that  bodily  weakness  brings. 
In  nursery  days  he  had  been  the  leader,  claiming  the  toys  he 
coveted;  in  boyhood  he  had  been  the  friend  and  intimate  of 
older  men,  who  laughed  at  his  straightforward  fearlessness, 
and  told  each  other,  while  the  heir  stood  by  and  listened,  that 
Maurice  was  a  pup  of  the  old  breed. 

There  was  comfort  blowing  down  the  wind  to  Rupert,  had 
he  guessed  it.  The  moor  loves  her  own,  as  human  mothers 
do,  and  in  her  winter-time  she  meant  to  prove  him.  He  did 
not  guess  as  much,  as  he  looked  down  on  the  huddled  chim- 
ney-stacks of  Windyhough,  and  saw  the  grey  smoke  flying 
wide  above  the  gables.  His  heart  was  there,  down  yonder 
where  the  old  house  laughed  slyly  to  know  that  he  was  heir 
to  it,  instead  of  Maurice.  If  only  he  could  take  his  full  share 
in  field-sports,  and  meet  his  fellows  with  the  frank  laugh  of 
comradeship — if  he  had  been  less  sensitive  to  ridicule,  to  the 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  MOOR  5 

self-distrust  inbred  in  him  by  Lady  Royd's  disdain — his  world 
might  have  worn  a  different  face  to-day.  He  stooped  to  pat 
the  setter  that  had  shared  a  day's  poor  sport  with  him,  and 
then  again  his  thoughts  went  roving  down  the  years. 

He  did  not  hear  the  sound  of  hoofs  behind  him,  till  Roger 
Demaine's  daughter  rode  close  up,  reined  in,  and  sat  regard- 
ing him  with  an  odd  look  of  pity,  and  liking,  and  reproach. 

"You  look  out  of  heart,  Rupert.  What  ails  you?"  she 
asked,  startling  him  out  of  his  day-dream. 

"  Life.  It  is  life  that  ails  me,"  he  muttered,  then  laughed 
as  if  ashamed  of  his  quick  outburst.  "  I've  been  tramping  the 
moors  since  daybreak,  Nance,"  he  went  on,  in  a  matter-of-fact 
voice,  "  and  all  for  three  brace  of  grouse.  You  know  how 
much  powder  goes  to  every  bird  I  kill." 

"But,  Rupert,  why  are  you  so  bitter?" 

"  Because  I'm  your  fool,"  he  broke  in,  with  easy  irony. 
"  Oh,  they  think  I  do  not  know !  They  call  me  the  scholar 
— or  the  dreamer — or  any  other  name — but  we  know  what  they 
mean,  Nance." 

The  girl's  face  was  grave  and  puzzled.  Through  all  the 
years  they  had  known  each  other,  he  and  she,  he  had  seldom 
shown  her  a  glimpse  of  this  passionate  rebellion  against  the 
world  that  hemmed  him  in.  And  it  was  true — pitiably  true. 
She  had  seen  men  smile  good-naturedly  when  his  name  was 
spoken — good-naturedly,  because  all  men  liked  him  in  some 
affectionate,  unquestioning  way — had  heard  them  ask  each 
other  what  the  Royds  had  done  in  times  past  to  deserve  such 
ill-luck  as  this  heir,  who  was  fit  only  for  the  cloisters  where 
scholars  walked  apart  and  read  old  tomes. 

And  yet,  for  some  odd  reason,  she  liked  him  better  for  the 
outburst.  Here  on  his  own  moors,  with  the  tiredness  in  his 
face  and  the  ring  of  courage  in  his  voice,  she  saw  the  man- 
hood in  him. 

"  Rupert,"  she  said,  glancing  backward,  and  laughing  to  hide 
her  stress  of  feeling.  "  You've  lost  me  a  race  to-day." 

"  Very  likely,"  he  said,  yielding  still  to  his  evil  humour.     "I 


4  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

was  always  in  the  way,  Nance.  My  lady  mother  told  me  as 
much,  no  longer  ago  than  yesterday.  This  race  of  yours  ?  " 
he  added,  tired  of  himself,  tired  of  the  comrade  moor,  weary 
even  of  Nance  Demaine,  who  was  his  first  love  and  who  would 
likely,  if  he  died  in  his  bed  at  ninety,  be  his  last. 

She  glanced  over  her  shoulder  again,  and  saw  two  horsemen 
cantering  half  a  mile  away  through  the  crimson  sunset-glow. 
"  It  was  a  good  wager,  Rupert,  and  you've  spoilt  it.  The  hunt 
was  all  amiss  to-day — whenever  we  found  a  fox,  we  lost  him 
after  a  mile  or  two — and  Will  Underwood  and  your  brother, 
as  we  rode  home " 

"  My  brother,  and  Will  Underwood — yes.  They  hunt  in 
couples  always." 

"  Be  patient,  Rupert !  Your  temper  is  on  edge.  I've  never 
known  it  fail  you  until  to-day." 

"  Fools  are  not  supposed  to  show  temper,"  he  put  in  dryly. 
"  It  is  only  wise  men  who're  allowed  to  ride  their  humours  on 
a  loose  rein.  So  you  had  a  wager,  Nance  ?  " 

"Yes.  We  had  had  no  real  gallop;  so,  coming  home, 
Maurice  said  that  he  would  give  me  a  fair  start — as  far 
as  Intake  Farm — and  the  first  home  to  father's  house 
should " 

She  halted,  ashamed,  somehow,  of  Rupert's  steady  glance. 

"And  the  wager?" 

She  glanced  behind  her.  The  two  horsemen  were  climbing 
Lone  Man's  Hill,  and  the  sight  of  them,  just  showing  over 
the  red,  sunset  top,  gave  her  new  courage.  "  You're  brave, 
Rupert,  and  I  was  full  of  laughter  till  you  spoiled  my  ride. 
It  was  so  slight  a  wager.  Maurice  has  a  rough-haired  terrier 
I  covet.  If — Rupert,  you  look  as  if  I  were  a  sinner  absolute 
— if  I  were  first  home,  Maurice  was  to  give  me  the  dog — and, 
if  not " 

"And  if  not?" 

She  was  dismayed  by  his  cold  air  of  question.  "  If  I  lost 
the  wager?  Your  brother  was  to  have  my  glove.  What 
harm  was  there?  He's  a  boy,  Rupert — besides,"  she  added, 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  MOOR  5 

with  the  unheeding  coquetry  that  was  constantly  leading  her 
astray,  "  it  is  you  who  make  me  lose  the  wager.  See  them, 
how  close  they  are!  And  I'd  kept  my  lead  so  splendidly 
until  you  checked  me." 

He  was  not  heeding  her.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  up- 
coming horsemen,  and  Nance  could  not  understand  this  new, 
tense  mood  of  his.  It  was  only  when  Will  Underwood  and 
young  Maurice  reined  up  beside  them  that  she  knew  there 
was  trouble  brewing,  as  surely  as  snow  was  coming  with  the 
rising  wind. 

"  We've  caught  you,  Nance,"  laughed  Maurice.  "  Will  you 
settle  the  wager  now,  or  later?" 

He  was  big  and  buoyant,  this  lad  of  two-and-twenty.  Life 
had  used  him  well,  had  given  him  a  hale  body,  and  nerves 
like  whipcord,  and  a  good  temper  that  needed  little  discipline 
to  train  it  into  shape. 

Will  Underwood  laughed.  "  Best  hasten,  Maurice,  or  I'll 
claim  the  forfeit  for  you." 

Rupert  glanced  from  Will  Underwood  to  Maurice.  There 
was  no  hurry  in  his  glance,  only  a  wish  to  strike,  and  a  tem- 
perate, quiet  question  as  to  which  enemy  he  should  choose. 
Then,  suddenly,  the  indignities  of  years  gone  by  came  to  a 
head.  He  recalled  the  constant  yielding  to  his  brother,  the 
gibes  he  had  let  pass  without  retaliation,  the  long  tale  of  re- 
nunciation, weakness. 

"  Maurice,"  he  said,  with  a  straightening  of  his  shoulders, 
"  I  want  a  word  with  you.  Mr.  Underwood,  you  will  ride 
home  with  Nance?  We  shall  not  need  you." 

Will  Underwood  gave  a  smothered  laugh,  but  Nance  was 
grave.  She  looked  first  at  Maurice's  boyish,  puzzled  face, 
then  at  Rupert. 

"  I  claim  your  escort,  Mr.  Underwood,"  she  said  sharply. 

Some  reproof  in  her  tone  ruffled  Will  Underwood  and  kept 
him  silent  as  they  rode  over  the  crest  of  the  moor  and  down 
the  long,  rough  slopes  that  led  them  to  the  pastures.  He  was 
assured  of  his  reputation  as  a  hard  rider  and  a  man  of  the 


6  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

world;  and  it  piqued  him  to  be  given  marching  orders  by  a 
boy  of  five-and-twenty. 

"  Rupert  thought  himself  his  own  father  just  now,  Miss 
Demaine,"  he  said  in  his  deep,  pleasant  voice.  "For  the  first 
time  since  I've  known  him,  he  had  something  of  the  grand 
air.  What  mischief  are  the  two  lads  getting  into  up  yonder  ?  " 

Nance  did  not  know  her  own  mood.  She  seemed  to  be  free, 
for  the  moment,  of  her  light-hearted,  healthy  girlhood,  seemed 
to  be  looking,  old  and  wise,  into  some  muddled  picture  of  the 
days  to  come.  "  No  mischief,"  she  answered,  as  if  some  other 
than  herself  were  speaking.  "  Rupert  is  finding  his  road  to 
the  grand  air,  as  you  call  it.  It  is  a  steep  road,  I  fancy." 

Up  on  the  moor  Maurice  was  facing  his  elder  brother. 
"What  fool's  play  is  this,  Rupert?"  he  asked.  "Why  don't 
you  hunt  instead  of  prowling  up  and  down  the  moor  with  a 
gun  till  your  wits  are  addled?  Your  face  is  like  a  hatchet." 

"You  made  a  wager?"  said  Rupert,  with  the  same  desper- 
ate quiet. 

"  Yes,  and  I've  won  it  Come,  old  monk,  admit  there  are 
worse  gloves  to  claim  in  Lancashire." 

Rupert  winced.  His  thoughts  of  Nance  Demaine  were  so 
long,  so  fragrant.  Since  his  boyhood  struggled  first  into  the 
riper  understanding,  he  had  cloistered  her  image  from  the 
world's  rough  usage.  She  had  been  to  him  something  magical, 
unattainable,  and  he  was  paying  now  for  an  homage  less 
healthy  than  this  world's  needs  demand.  It  was  all  so  tri- 
fling, this  happy-go-lucky  wager  of  a  dog  against  a  glove;  but 
he  saw  in  it  a  supplanting  more  bitter  than  any  that  had  gone 
before. 

He  stood  there  for  a  moment,  irresolute,  bound  by  old  sub- 
servience to  Maurice,  by  remembrance  of  his  weakness  and  his 
nickname  of  "  the  scholar."  Then  the  moor  whispered  in  his 
ear,  told  him  to  be  a  fool  no  longer ;  and  a  strength  that  was 
almost  gaiety  came  to  him. 

"  Get  out  of  the  saddle,  Maurice,"  he  said  peremptorily.  "  I 
want  to  talk  to  you  on  foot." 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  MOOR  7 

Maurice  obeyed  by  instinct,  as  if  a  ghost  had  met  him  in 
the  open  and  startled  him.  Here  was  the  scholar — the  brother 
whom  he  could  not  any  way  despise,  because  he  loved  him 
— with  a  red  spot  of  colour  in  each  cheek,  and  in  his  voice 
the  ring  of  true  metal. 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  the  younger. 

"  You  never  would  have  claimed  that  glove." 

The  boy's  temper,  easy-going  as  it  was,  was  roused. 
"Would  you  have  hindered  me?" 

"  Yes.     I— I  love  her.     That  is  all." 

So  young  Maurice  laughed  aloud,  and  Rupert  ran  in  sud- 
denly and  hit  him  on  the  mouth,  and  the  fight  began.  In  his 
dreams  the  heir  of  Windyhough  had  revelled  in  battles,  in 
swift  assaults,  forlorn  and  desperate  hopes ;  for  he  had  known 
no  waking  pleasures  of  the  kind.  And  always,  in  his  dreams, 
there  had  been  a  certain  spaciousness  and  leisure ;  he  had  found 
time,  in  between  giving  and  receiving  blows,  to  feel  himself 
the  big  man  of  his  hands,  to  revel  in  the  sheer  bravery  of  the 
thing. 

In  practice,  here  on  the  open  moor,  with  snow  coming  up 
across  the  stormy,  steel-grey  sky,  there  was  no  leisure  and  no 
illusion.  He  had  no  time  to  feel,  no  luxury  of  sentiment. 
He  knew  only  that,  in  some  muddled  way,  he  was  fighting 
Nance's  battle;  that,  by  some  miracle,  he  got  a  sharp  blow 
home  at  times;  that  twice  Maurice  knocked  him  down;  that, 
by  some  native  stubbornness,  he  got  up  again,  with  the  moor 
dancing  in  wide  circles  round  him,  and  hit  his  man. 

It  was  swift  and  soon  over,  as  Rupert  thought  of  this  battle 
afterwards.  No  pipes  were  playing  up  and  down  the  hills,  to 
hearten  him.  Even  the  wind,  whose  note  he  loved,  blew  swift 
from  the  east  about  deaf  ears.  He  and  his  brother  were 
alone,  in  a  turmoil  of  their  own  making,  and  his  weakening 
arms  were  beating  like  a  flail  about  the  head  of  Maurice,  the 
supplanter.  Then  the  moors  whirled  round  him,  a  world  big 
with  portent  and  disaster ;  and  dimly,  as  from  a  long  way  off, 
he  heard  Maurice's  voice. 


8  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  111  have  to  kill  him  before  he  gives  in.  Who  ever  thought 
it  of  the  scholar?" 

The  gibe  heartened  Rupert.  He  struggled  up  again,  and 
by  sheer  instinct — skill  he  had  little,  and  strength  seemed  to 
have  left  him  long  ago — he  got  another  swift  blow  home. 
And  then  darkness  settled  on  him,  and  he  dreamed  again  of 
battle  as  he  had  known  it  in  the  fanciful  days  of  boyhood. 
He  revelled  in  this  lonely  moorland  fight,  counted  again  each 
blow  and  wondered  at  its  strength,  knew  himself  at  last  a  proven 
man.  His  dreams  were  kind  to  him. 

Then  he  got  out  from  his  sickness,  little  by  little,  and  looked 
about  him,  and  saw  a  half-moon  shining  dimly  through  a 
whirl  of  snow.  The  east  wind  was  playing  shrewdly  round 
his  battered  face,  as  if  a  man  were  rubbing  salt  into  his 
wounds.  He  tried  to  get  up,  looked  about  him  again,  and  saw 
Maurice  stooping  over  him. 

A  long  glance  passed  between  the  brothers,  Rupert  lying  on 
the  heather,  Maurice  kneeling  in  the  sleety  moonlight.  There 
was  question  in  the  glance,  old  affection,  some  trouble  of  the 
jealousy  that  had  bidden  them  fight  just  now.  Then  a  little 
sob,  of  which  he  was  ashamed,  escaped  the  younger  brother. 

Rupert  struggled  to  a  sitting  posture.  He  could  do  no  more 
as  yet.  "  So  I'm  not  just  the  scholar?  "  he  asked  feebly. 

Maurice,  young  as  he  was,  was  troubled  by  the  vehemence, 
the  wistfulness,  of  the  appeal.  Odd  chords  were  stirred,  un- 
der the  rough-and-ready  view  he  had  of  life.  This  brother  with 
whom  he  had  fought  just  now — he  understood,  in  a  dim  way, 
the  pity  and  the  isolation  of  his  life,  understood  the  daily  suf- 
fering he  had  undergone.  Then,  suddenly  and  as  if  to  seek 
relief  from  too  much  feeling,  the  younger  brother  laughed. 

"  The  next  time  a  man  sneers  at  you  for  being  a  scholar, 
Rupert,  give  him  a  straight  answer." 

"  Yes  ?  "  The  heir  of  Windyhough  was  dazed  and  muddled 
still,  though  he  had  got  to  his  feet  again. 

"  Hit  him  once  between  the  eyes.  A  liar  seldom  asks  a 
second  blow,  so  father  says." 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  MOOR  9 

Then  a  silence  fell  between  them,  while  the  last  of  the  sun- 
set red  grew  pale  about  the  swarthy  line  of  heath  above 
them,  and  the  moon  sailed  dim  and  phantom-like  through  the 
sleety  clouds.  They  had  been  fond  of  each  other  always,  but 
now  some  deeper  love,  some  intimate  communion,  gathered 
the  years  up  and  bound  them  into  lasting  friendship.  Maurice 
had  been  jealous  of  his  brother's  heirship,  contemptuous  of  his 
-scholarship.  And  Rupert  had  been  sick  at  heart,  these  years 
past,  knowing  how  well  the  supplanter  sat  his  horse,  and  car- 
ried a  gun,  and  did  all  things  reckoned  worthy. 

And  now  they  met  on  equal  terms.  They  had  fought  to- 
gether, man  against  man;  and  their  love  ripened  under  the 
bitter  east  wind  and  the  stinging  sleet,  as  the  man's  way  is. 

They  went  down  the  moor  together,  Maurice  leading  his 
horse  by  the  bridle.  They  were  no  heroic  figures,  the  three 
of  them.  The  horse  was  shivering,  after  long  waiting  in  the 
cold  while  his  master  settled  private  differences ;  and  the  two 
brothers  limped  and  stumbled  as  they  picked  their  way  down 
the  white  slope  of  the  moor.  There  was  no  speed  of  action 
now ;  there  was,  instead,  this  slow  march  home  that  in  its  very 
forlornness  touched  some  subtle  note  of  humour.  Yet  Rupert 
was  warm,  as  if  he  sat  by  a  peat-fire ;  for  he  felt  a  man's  soul 
stirring  in  him. 

"  What  did  we  fight  about  ? "  asked  Maurice  suddenly. 
"  The  fun  was  so  hot  while  it  lasted — and,  gad,  Rupert,  I've 
forgotten  what  the  quarrel  was." 

Again  the  elder  brother  grew  quick,  alert.  It  seemed  he 
was  ready  to  provoke  a  second  fight.  "  It  was  Nance's 
glove,"  he  said  quietly.  "You  said  you  meant  to  claim  it,  and 
I  said  not.  I  say  it  still." 

"  There,  there,  old  lad ! "  laughed  Maurice,  patting  him 
lightly  on  the  shoulder.  "  You  shall  have  the  glove.  She'd 
rather  give  it  to  you  than  to  any  man  in  Lancashire.  I  said 
as  much  to  Will  Underwood  just  now,  and  he  didn't  relish  it." 

"  Rather  give  it  me  ?  "  echoed  the  other,  with  entire  sim- 
plicity. "  I  can  do  nothing  that  a  woman  asks,  Maurice." 


10  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

A  sudden  dizziness  crossed  his  eagerness.  He  could  not 
keep  the  path,  until  Maurice  steadied  him. 

"  You  can  hit  devilish  hard,"  said  the  younger  dryly. 

The  three  of  them  went  down  the  moor,  counting  the  fur- 
longs miles.  And  again  the  brothers  met  on  equal  terms ;  for 
each  was  bruised  and  hungry,  and  body-sickness,  if  it  strike 
deep  enough,  is  apt  to  bring  wayfarers  to  one  common  level. 

Nance  and  Will  Underwood  had  reached  the  lower  lands 
by  now,  and  she  turned  to  him  at  the  gate  of  Demaine  House 
with  some  reluctance. 

"  You  will  let  my  father  thank  you  for  your  escort  ?  "  she 
asked,  stroking  her  mare's  neck, 

"  I'll  come  in,"  he  answered,  with  the  rollicking  assurance 
that  endeared  him  to  the  hard  riders  of  the  county — "  if  only 
for  an  hour  more  with  you."  He  leaned  across  and  touched 
her  bridle-hand.  "  Nance,  you've  treated  me  all  amiss  these 
last  days.  You  never  give  me  a  word  apart,  and  there's  so 
much " 

"  I'm  tired  and  cold,"  she  broke  in,  wayward  and  sleety  as 
this  moorland  that  had  cradled  her.  "  You  may  spare  me — 
what  shall  I  say  ? — the  flattery  that  Mr.  Underwood  gives  every 
woman,  when  other  women  are  not  there  to  hear." 

She  did  not  know  what  ailed  her.  Until  an  hour  ago  she 
had  been  yielding,  little  by  little,  to  the  suit  which  Will  Under- 
wood had  pressed  on  her — in  season  and  out,  as  his  way  was. 
There  had  been  sudden  withdrawals,  gusts  of  coquetry,  on  her 
part ;  for  the  woman's  flight  at  all  times  is  like  a  snipe's — zig- 
zag, and  only  to  be  reckoned  with  according  to  the  rule  of 
contraries. 

But  now,  as  she  went  into  the  house,  not  asking  but  simply 
permitting  him  to  follow  her,  there  was  a  real  avoidance  of 
him.  She  could  not  rid  herself  of  the  picture  of  Rupert, 
standing  desolate  up  yonder  on  the  empty  moors — Rupert, 
who  was  heir  to  traditions  of  hard  riding  and  hard  fighting; 
Rupert,  with  the  eyes  of  a  dreamer  and  the  behaviour  of  a 
hermit.  She  wondered  what  he  and  Maurice  were  doing  on 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  MOOR  11 

the  moor.  His  last  words  had  not  suggested  need  of  her — 
had  hinted  plainly  that  he  had  a  man's  work  to  do. 

Her  father  was  in  the  hall  as  they  came  in.  A  glance  at  his 
face  told  her  that  Roger  Demaine  was  in  no  mood  for  trifles, 
and  she  stood  apart,  willingly  enough,  while  he  gravely  offered 
wine  to  Underwood,  and  filled  his  glass  for  him,  and  scarcely 
paused  to  let  him  set  lips  to  it  before  he  ran  into  the  middle 
of  his  tale. 

"  There's  muddled  news  from  Scotland.  I  can't  make  head 
or  tail  of  it,"  he  said,  glancing  sharply  round  to  see  that  no 
servants  were  in  earshot.  "  We  expected  him  to  come  south 
with  the  New  Year,  and  I've  had  word  just  now  that  he'll  be 
riding  through  Lancashire  before  the  month  is  out — that  he 
means  to  keep  Christmas  in  high  state  in  London." 

"  I'll  not  believe  it,"  said  Will  Underwood  lazily.  "  The 
clans  up  yonder  need  more  than  a  week  or  two  to  rally  to  the 
muster." 

"  You  were  always  slow  to  believe,"  snapped  the  Squire. 
"  Have  a  care,  Will,  or  they'll  say  you're  like  nine  men  out  of 
ten — loyal  only  until  the  test  comes." 

The  other  glanced  at  Nance,  then  at  his  host.  "  I  would  not 
permit  the  insult  from  a  younger  man,  sir,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  fiddle-de-dee !  "  broke  in  old  Roger.  "  Fine  phrases 
don't  win  battles,  and  never  did.  Insult?  None  intended, 
Will.  But  I'm  sick  with  anxiety,  and  you  younger  men  are 
the  devil  and  all  when  you're  asked  to  ride  on  some  one  else's 
errand  than  your  own." 

Roger  Demaine,  big  of  height  and  girth,  his  face  a  fine,  fox- 
hunter's  red,  stood  palpably  for  the  old  race  of  squires.  In  his 
life  there  were  mistakes  enough — mistakes  of  impulse  and  of 
an  uncurbed  temper — but  there  was  no  pandering  to  shame  of 
any  sort. 

"  When  I'm  asked,  sir,  I  shall  answer,"  said  Will  Under- 
wood, moving  restlessly  from  foot  to  foot. 

"  Well,  I  hope  so.  You'll  not  plead,  eh,  that  you  are  pledged 
to  hunt  six  days  a  week,  and  cannot  come  ?  that  you've  a  snug 


12  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

house  and  some  thought  of  bringing  a  wife  to  it  one  day,  and 
cannot  come?  that  you  are  training  a  dog  to  the  gun,  and 
cannot  come " 

It  was  Nance  who  broke  in  now.  She  had  forgotten  Rupert, 
standing  hungry  and  forlorn  up  the  high  moor  and  looking 
down  on  his  inheritance  of  Windyhough.  Her  old  liking  for 
Will  Underwood — a  liking  that  had  come  near,  during  these 
last  days,  to  love  and  hero-worship — bade  her  defend  their 
guest  against  a  tongue  that  was  sharper  than  her  father 
guessed. 

"  I  know  he  will  be  true.  Why  should  you  doubt  him, 
father?" 

"Oh,  there,  child!  Who  said  I  doubted  him?  It's  the 
whole  younger  race  of  men  I  distrust.  Will  here  must  be 
scapegoat — and,  by  that  token,  your  glass  is  empty,  Will." 

With  entire  disregard  of  anything  that  had  gone  before, 
Squire  Demaine  rilled  another  measure  for  his  guest,  pointed 
to  the  chair  across  the  hearth,  and  was  about  to  give  the  news 
from  Scotland,  word  by  word,  when  he  remembered  Nance. 
"  It  will  be  only  recruiting-talk,  Nance — men  to  be  counted 
on  in  one  place,  and  men  we  doubt  in  t'other.  It  would  only 
weary  you." 

Nance  came  and  stood  between  them,  slim  and  passionate. 
"  I  choose  to  stay,  father.  Your  talk  of  men,  of  arms  hidden 
in  the  hay-mows  and  the  byres,  of  the  marching-out — that  is 
your  part  of  the  battle.  But  what  afterwards?" 

They  glanced  at  her  in  some  perplexity.  She  was  so  reso- 
lute, yet  so  remote,  in  her  eager  beauty,  from  the  highways 
that  men  tramp  when  civil  war  is  going  forward. 

"  What  afterwards?  "  grumbled  Squire  Roger.  "  Well,  the 
right  King  on  the  throne  again,  we  hope.  What  else,  my 
girl?" 

"  After  you've  gone,  father,  and  left  the  house  to  its  women  ? 
I'm  mistress  here,  since — since  mother  died." 

Roger  Demaine  got  to  his  feet  hurriedly  and  took  a  pinch 
of  snuff.  "  Oh,  have  a  care,  Nance !  "  he  protested  noisily. 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  MOOR  18 

"  There's  no  need  to  remind  me  that  your  mother  died.  I 
should  have  taken  a  whole  heart  to  the  Rising,  instead  of 
half  o'  one,  if  she'd  been  alive." 

Nance  touched  his  hair  lightly,  in  quick  repentance  of  the 
hurt  she  had  given  him.  But  she  would  not  yield  her  point. 
"  I  shall  be  left  mistress  here — mistress  of  a  house  made  up 
of  women  and  old  men — and  you?  You  will  be  out  in  the 
open,  giving  blows  instead  of  nursing  patience  by  the  hearth." 

"  Perhaps — Nance,  perhaps  the  Rising  will  not  need  us, 
after  all,"  said  Will  Underwood,  with  a  lame  attempt  to  shirk 
the  issue. 

"  I  trust  that  it  will  need  you,  sir — will  need  us  both,"  she 
said,  flinging  round  on  him  with  the  speed  of  her  father's 
temper.  "  You  thought  I  complained  of  the  loneliness  that  is 
coming?  No — but,  if  I'm  to  take  part  in  your  war,  I'll  know 
what  news  you  have." 

Roger  Demaine  patted  her  gently  on  the  shoulder,  and  smiled 
as  if  he  watched  a  kitten  playing  antics  with  a  serious  face. 
"  The  child  is  right,  Will,"  he  said.  "  It  will  be  long  and 
lonely  for  her,  come  to  think  of  it,  and  there's  no  harm  in 
telling  her  the  news." 

"Who  was  the  messenger,  father?"  she  asked,  leaning 
against  the  mantel  and  looking  down  into  the  blazing  log-fire. 

"  Oh,  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse,  from  the  Annan  country. 
The  best  horseman  north  of  the  Solway,  they  say.  He  was 
only  here  for  as  long  as  his  message  lasted,  and  off  again  for 
Sir  Jasper's  at  Windyhough." 

"  And  his  news  ? "  asked  Will  Underwood,  watching  the 
fireglow  play  about  Nance's  clear-cut  face  and  maidish  figure. 

The  Squire  drew  them  close  to  him,  and  glanced  about  him 
again  and,  for  all  his  would-be  secrecy,  his  voice  rang  like  a 
trumpet-call  before  he  had  half  told  them  of  the  doings  up  in 
Scotland.  For  his  loyalty  was  sane  and  vastly  simple. 

They  were  silent  for  a  while,  until  Nance  turned  slowly  and 
stood  looking  at  the  two  men.  "  It  is  all  like  a  dream  come 
true.  The  hunger  and  the  ache,  father — the  King  in  name 


14  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

reigning  it  here,  and  that  other  over-seas — and  grooms  riding 
while  their  masters  walk " 

"  We'll  soon  be  up  in  saddle  again,"  broke  in  old  Roger 
brusquely.  "  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse  brings  us  news  that  will 
end  all  that.  The  country  disaffected,  the  old  loyalty  waiting 
for  a  breeze  to  stir  it — how  can  we  fail?  I  tell  you  there's 
to  be  another  Restoration,  and  all  the  church  bells  ringing." 

He  halted,  glancing  at  Will  Underwood,  who  was  pacing  up 
and  down  the  room. 

"You've  the  look  of  a  trapped  wild-cat,  Will,"  he  said 
irascibly.  "  I  fancied  my  news  would  please  you — but,  dear 
God,  you  younger  men  are  cold!  You  can  follow  your  fox 
over  hedge  and  dyke  and  take  all  risks.  It's  only  when  the 
big  hunt  is  up  that  you  begin  to  count  the  value  of  your  necks." 

Underwood  turned  sharply.  Some  trouble  of  his  own  had 
stood  between  him  and  the  Rising  news,  but  the  Squire's  gibe 
had  touched  him  now.  "  The  big  hunt  has  been  up  many 
times,  sir,"  he  said  impatiently.  "  We've  heard  the  Stuart 
shouting  Tally-ho  all  down  from  Solway  to  the  Thames — but 
we've  never  seen  the  fox.  Oliphant  is  too  sanguine  always." 

Old  Roger  cut  him  short.  "  Oliphant,  by  grace  o'  God,  is 
like  a  bit  of  Ferrara's  steel.  I  wish  we  had  more  like  him. 
In  my  young  days  we  did  not  talk,  and  talk — we  got  to  saddle 
when  such  as  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse  came  to  rouse  us. 
You're  cold,  I  tell  you,  Will.  Your  voice  rings  sleety." 

Will  Underwood  glanced  slowly  from  his  host  to  Nance. 
He  saw  that  she  was  watching  him,  and  caught  fire  from  her 
silent,  half-disdainful  question.  Hot  words — of  loyalty  and 
daring — ran  out  unbidden.  And  Nance,  in  turn,  warmed  to 
his  mood;  for  it  was  so  she  had  watched  him  take  his  fences 
on  hunting-days,  so  that  he  had  half  persuaded  her  to  love  him 
outright  and  have  done  with  it. 

But  old  Roger  was  still  unconvinced.  "  We  may  be  called 
out  within  the  month.  Have  you  set  your  house  in  order, 
Will?" 

Again  the  younger  mar.  seemed  to  be  looking  backward  to 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  MOOR  15 

some  trouble  that  had  dwarfed  his  impulse.  "  Why,  no,  sir," 
he  answered  lamely.  "  Surely  I  have  had  no  time  ?  " 

"  Just  so,"  put  in  the  other  dryly.  "  At  my  time  of  life, 
Will,  men  learn  to  set  things  in  order  before  the  call  comes. 
Best  have  all  in  readiness." 

A  troubled  silence  followed.  They  stood  in  the  thick  of 
peril  soon  to  come,  and  Squire  Roger,  haphazard  and  unthink- 
ing at  usual  times,  had  struck  a  note  of  faith  that  was  deep, 
far  sounding,  not  to  be  denied.  As  if  ashamed  of  his  feeling, 
openly  expressed,  the  Squire  laughed  clumsily. 

"  I  was  boasting,  Nance,"  he  said,  putting  a  rough  hand  on 
her  shoulder,  "  and  that's  more  dangerous  than  hunting  foxes 
— bagged  foxes  brought  over-seas  from  Hanover.  Bless  me! 
you  were  talking  of  staying  here  as  mistress,  and  I'll  not 
allow  it.  I've  had  a  plan  in  my  head  since  Oliphant  first 
brought  the  news." 

"But,   father,    I  must   stay   here.     Where   else?" 

"  At  Windyhough.  No,  girl,  I'll  have  no  arguments  about 
it.  You'll  be  protected  there." 

Will  Underwood  laughed,  and  somehow  Nance  liked  him 
none  the  better  for  it.  "  Sir  Jasper  will  go  with  us,  and 
Maurice,  and  every  able-bodied  man  about  the  place — who 
will  be  left  to  play  guardian  to  Nance?" 

"  Rupert,  unless  I've  misjudged  the  lad,"  snapped  the  Squire. 

"  He  cannot  protect  himself,  sir." 

"  No.  May  be  not — just  yet.  But  I've  faith  in  that  lad, 
somehow.  He'll  look  after  other  folk's  cattle  better  than  his 
own.  Some  few  are  made  in  that  mould,  Will.  It's  a  good 
mould,  and  rare." 

His  secret  trouble,  and  his  jealousy  of  any  man  who  threat- 
ened to  come  close  to  Nance,  swept  Will  Underwood's  pru- 
dence clean  away.  He  should  have  known  by  now  this  bluff, 
uncompromising  tone  of  the  Squire's.  "  She's  safer  here,  sir," 
he  blundered  on.  "  We  all  know  Rupert  for  a  scholar — I'd 
rather  trust  Nance  to  her  own  women-servants." 

"  But  I  would  not,"  put  in  old  Roger  dryly,  "  and  I  happen 


16  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

to  have  a  say  in  the  matter.  If  Rupert's  a  fool — well,  he 
shall  have  his  chance  of  proving  it.  Nance,  you  go  to  Windy- 
hough.  That's  understood?  The  house  down  yonder  can 
stand  a  siege,  and  this  cannot.  My  fool  of  a  grandfather — 
God  rest  him,  all  the  same ! — dismantled  the  house  here.  He 
thought  there'd  never  again  be  civil  war  in  Lancashire — but 
down  at  Windyhough  they  lived  in  hope." 

Nance  laughed — the  brave  laugh  of  a  woman  cradled  in  a 
house  of  gallant  faith,  of  loyalty  to  old  tradition.  She  un- 
derstood her  father's  breezy,  offhand  talk  of  civil  war,  as  if 
it  were  a  pleasant  matter.  He  would  have  chosen  other  means, 
she  knew,  if  peace  had  shown  the  road;  but  better  war,  of 
friend  against  friend,  than  this  corroding  apathy  that  had 
fallen  on  men's  ideals  since  the  King-in-name  ruled  England 
by  the  help  of  foreign  mercenaries. 

Will  Underwood  caught  infection  from  these  two.  The  one 
was  hale,  bluff  and  hard-riding,  a  man  proven ;  the  other  was 
a  slip  of  a  lassie,  slender  as  a  reed  and  fanciful;  yet  each 
had  the  same  eager  outlook  on  this  matter  of  the  Rising — an 
outlook  that  admitted  no  compromise,  no  asking  whether  the 
time  were  ripe  for  sacrifice  and  peril.  The  moment  was  in- 
stinct with  drama  to  Underwood,  and  he  was  ready  always  to 
step  into  the  forefront  of  a  scene. 

"When  are  we  needed,  sir?"  he  asked,  with  a  grave  sim- 
plicity that  was  equal  to  their  own. 

"  Within  the  month,  if  all  goes  well  with  the  march. 
There's  little  time,  Will,  and  much  to  do." 

"  Ay,  there's  much  to  do — but  we  shall  light  a  fire  for  every 
loyalist  to  warm  his  hands  at.  May  the  Prince  come  soon, 
say  I." 

The  Squire  glanced  sharply  at  him.  Will's  tone,  his  easy, 
gallant  bearing,  removed  some  doubts  he  had  had  of  late  touch- 
ing the  younger  man's  fidelity ;  and  when,  a  little  later,  Nance 
said  that  she  would  leave  them  to  their  wine,  he  permitted 
Will  to  open  the  door  for  her,  to  follow  her  for  a  moment  into 
the  draughty  hall.  He  noticed,  with  an  old  man's  dry  and 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  MOOR  17 

charitable  humour,  that  Nance  dropped  her  kerchief  as  she 
went  out,  and  that  Will  picked  it  up. 

"  The  hunt  is  up,"  he  muttered.  "  The  finest  hunt  is  up 
that  England  ever  saw — and  these  two  are  playing  a  child's 
game  of  drop-kerchief.  There'll  be  time  to  make  love  by  and 
by,  surely,  when  peace  comes  in  again." 

The  Squire  was  restless.  To  his  view  of  the  Prince's 
march  from  Scotland,  there  was  England's  happiness  at  stake. 
He  would  have  to  wait  three  weeks  or  so,  drilling  his  men, 
rousing  his  neighbours  to  the  rally,  doing,  fifty  things  a  day  to 
keep  his  patience  decently  in  bounds.  He  needed  the  gallop 
south,  and  the  quick  dangers  of  the  road;  and  here,  instead, 
were  two  youngsters  who  fancied  love  was  all. 

Outside  in  the  hall  Nance  and  Will  Underwood  were  facing 
each  other  with  a  certain  grave  disquiet.  The  wind  was  ris- 
ing fast;  its  song  overhead  among  the  chimney-stacks  was 
wild  and  comfortless;  the  draught  of  it  crept  down 
the  stairs,  and  under  the  main  door,  and  through  ill- 
fitting  casements,  blowing  the  candle-flames  aslant  and  shap- 
ing the  droppings  into  what  the  country-folk  called  "  candle- 
corpsies."  Somewhere  from  the  kitchen  a  maidservant  was 
singing  a  doleful  ballad,  dear  to  rustic  Lancashire,  of  one  Sir 
Harry  of  Devil sbridge,  who  rode  out  to  his  wedding  one  day 
and  never  was  seen  again  save  as  a  ghost  that  haunted  Lang 
Rigg  Moss. 

"  There's  a  lively  tune  for  Rising  men  to  march  to,"  said 
Underwood,  ill  at  ease  somehow,  yet  forcing  a  gay  laugh. 
"  If  I  were  superstitious " 

"  We  are  all  superstitious,"  broke  in  the  other,  restless  as 
her  father.  "  Since  babyhood  we've  listened  to  that  note 
i'  the  wind.  Oh,  it  sobs,  and  will  not  any  way  be  still !  It 
comes  homeless  from  the  moors,  and  cries  to  us  to  let  it 
in.  Martha  is  right  to  be  singing  yonder  of  souls  crying 
over  the  Moss." 

Again  Will  Underwood  yielded  to  place  and  circumstance. 
He  had  watched  Nance  grow  up  from  lanky  girlhood  into  a 


18  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

womanhood  that,  if  it  had  no  extravagance  of  beauty,  arrested 
every  man's  attention  and  made  him  better  for  the  pause. 
He  had  hunted  with  her,  in  fair  weather  and  in  foul,  had  sat 
at  meat  with  her  in  this  house  that  kept  open,  hospitable  doors. 
Yet,  until  to-night,  he  had  not  seen  her  as  she  was,  a  child 
of  the  moors,  passionate,  wayward,  strong  for  the  realities  of 
human  pity,  human  need  for  faith  and  constancy. 

"  I  have  your  kerchief,  Nance,"  he  said.  The  gravity,  the 
quietness  of  his  tone  surprised  her.  "  I'll  keep  it,  by  your 
leave." 

She  glanced  at  him,  and  there  was  trouble  in  her  eyes. 
This  news  of  the  Rising  had  stirred  every  half-forgotten 
longing,  inbred  in  her,  that  a  Stuart  might  reign  again,  gallant 
and  debonair  and  kingly,  over  this  big-little  land  of  England. 
She  wished  the  old  days  back,  with  desperate  eagerness — the 
days  when  men  were  not  blameless,  as  in  a  fairy-tale,  but  when, 
at  any  rate,  they  served  their  King  for  loyalty  instead  of  pru- 
dence. Yet,  now,  with  Will  Underwood  here,  her  hopes  of  the 
Rising  grew  shadowy  and  far-away.  She  was  not  thinking  of 
England  or  the  Stuart;  she  was  asking  herself,  with  piteous 
appeal  for  help,  whether  her  own  little  life  was  to  be  marred  or 
made  by  this  big,  loose-built  man  whom  all  women  were  sup- 
posed to  love  at  sight.  She  drew  her  skirts  away  from  such  in- 
temperate, unstable  love ;  but  she  had  known  Will  Underwood 
long,  had  dreamed  of  him  o'  nights,  had  shaped  him  to  some 
decent  likeness  of  a  hero. 

"  No,  you'll  not  keep  it.  You  will  give  it  back  to  me. 
Oh,  I  insist ! "  she  broke  off,  again  with  her  father's  quick, 
heedless  need  to  be  obeyed. 

He  put  the  kerchief  into  her  hand.  "  So  you're  sending  me 
a  beggar  to  the  wars,"  he  said  sullenly. 

"  If  you  go  to  the  wars  " — she  was  looking  wistfully  at 
him,  as  if  asking  for  some  better  answer  to  her  need  of 
faith — "you  shall  take  it  with  you,  Mr.  Underwood." 

"  You  doubt  me,  Nance?  " 

"  Doubt  ?    I   doubt  everything  these  days :   you,   and   the 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  MOOR  19 

Prince's  march  from  Scotland,  and  all — why,  all  I'm  too 
tired  to  hope  for.  You  do  not  guess  how  tired  I  am.  To- 
morrow, may  be,  the  wind  will  be  quieter — and  Martha  will 
not  be  singing  from  the  kitchens  how  Sir  Harry  rode  over 
Devilsbridge  and  came  back,  without  his  body,  to  haunt  the 
moors.  Good-night,  Mr.  Underwood.  Go  talk  with  father  of 
the  Rising." 

Yet  still  they  lingered  for  a  moment.  Through  all  her 
weariness — through  the  vague  distrust  that  was  chilling  her 
— she  remembered  the  day-time  intimacy,  the  nights  of  long, 
girlish  dreams,  that  had  gone  to  the  making  of  her  regard 
for  Will.  It  was  untrue — it  must  be  untrue — that  he  was  half- 
hearted in  this  enterprise  that  was  to  set  England  free  of  the 
intolerable  yoke.  If  Will's  honour  went  by  the  board,  she 
would  begin  to  doubt  her  own  good  faith. 

What  was  passing  in  Will  Underwood's  mind  he  himself 
scarcely  knew,  perhaps.  He  was  full  of  trouble,  indecision; 
but  he  glanced  at  Nance,  saw  the  frank  question  and  appeal 
in  her  face,  and  his  doubts  slipped  by  him. 

"  I  shall  claim  that  kerchief,  Nance,"  he  said — "  before  the 
month  is  out,  if  Oliphant  brought  a  true  message  south." 

Nance  glanced  at  him.  "  Mr.  Oliphant  never  lies.  His 
enemies  admit  as  much.  So  come  for  what  I'll  give — if  you 
come  before  the  month  is  out." 

She  was  gone  before  he  could  insist  on  one  last  word,  and 
Will  Underwood  turned  impatiently  to  seek  his  host.  A 
half-hour  later,  after  she  had  heard  him  get  to  saddle  and 
ride  away,  Nance  came  downstairs,  and  found  her  father 
pacing  up  and  down  the  dining-chamber. 

"  What,  you  ?  "  growled  old  Roger.  "  I  thought  you  were 
in  bed  by  this  time,  child." 

"  I  cannot  sleep."  She  came  to  his  side,  and  put  a  friendly 
arm  through  his.  "  Father,  am  I  right  ?  It  seems  there  are 
so  many — so  many  of  our  men  who  are  cold " 

"  Why,  damme,  that's  just  what  I  was  thinking,"  roared 
the  Squire,  his  good-humour  returning  when  another  shared 


20  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

his  loneliness.  "  It's  the  older  men  who  are  warm — the  older 
men  who  are  going  to  carry  this  business  through.  It  was 
not  so  in  my  young  days.  Our  fathers  licked  us  into  better 
shape,  and  we'd  fewer  luxuries,  may  be.  Why,  child,  we 
dared  not  play  fast  and  loose  with  loyalty,  as  some  of  these 
young  blades  are  doing." 

"  They  ask  for  reasons,  father.  Young  Hunter  of  Hun- 
terscliff  rode  up  to  me  to-day,  as  we  were  waiting  for  hounds 
to  strike  the  scent.  And  I  spoke  of  the  Rising,  because  I  can 
think  of  little  else  these  days;  and  he  yawned,  in  the  lacka- 
daisical way  he  brought  from  London  a  year  ago,  and  said 
the  Prince  was  following  a  wild-goose  chase.  And  he,  too, 
asked  for  reasons — asked  why  he  should  give  up  a  hunting 
life  for  the  pleasure  of  putting  his  neck  into  a  halter." 

Roger  Demaine  stood,  square  and  big,  with  his  back  to  the 
fire.  His  fine  apparel,  the  ordered  comfort  of  the  room, 
could  not  disguise  his  ruggedness.  He  was  an  out-of-doors 
man,  simple,  passionate,  clean  as  the  winds  and  an  open  life 
could  make  him.  "  Hunter  of  Hunterscliff  will  put  his  neck 
into  a  worse  halter  if  he  airs  such  shallow  stuff.  I'd  have  had 
him  ducked  in  the  nearest  horse-pond  if  he'd  said  that  to  me." 

The  two  looked  quietly  at  each  other,  father  and  daughter, 
ea:ch  knowing  that  there  was  need  of  some  deeper  confi- 
dence. 

"  You  dropped  your  kerchief  just  now,  Nance,"  said  Roger 
dryly,  "and  Will  Underwood  picked  it  up.  Did  he  keep 
it?" 

The  girl  was  full  of  trouble.  Her  father's  happiness,  the 
welfare  of  the  English  land  which  she  loved  almost  to  idolatry, 
her  trust  in  Underwood's  honour,  were  all  at  stake.  But  she 
stood  proud  and  self-reliant.  "  Did  you  train  me  to  drop  my 
kerchief  for  any  man  to  keep?  I  tell  you,  sir — as  I  told  Mr. 
Underwood  just  now — that  he  may  claim  it  when — when  he 
has  proved  himself." 

The  Squire  was  in  complete  good-humour  now.  This  girl 
of  his  was  as  a  woman  should  be,  suave  and  bendable  as  a 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  MOOR  21 

hazel-twig,  yet  strong,  not  to  be  broken  by  any  onset  of  the 
wind.  He  could  afford  to  tease  her,  now  that  his  mind  was 
easy. 

"  Why,  surely  Will  has  proved  himself,"  he  said,  smiling 
down  at  her  from  his  big  height.  "  He  can  take  his  fences  with 
any  man.  He  can  take  his  liquor,  too,  when  need  asks,  and 
watch  weaker  men  slide  gently  under-table.  He  can  hit  four 
birds  out  of  five,  Nance,  and  is  a  proper  lady's  man  as  well. 
Dear  heart !  what  more  does  the  child  ask  from  a  lover  ?  " 

"  I  ask  so  little  of  him — just  to  ride  out,  and  ride  in  again 
after  the  bells  are  ringing,  a  Stuart  home.  To  risk  a  little 
hardship.  To  come  out  of  his  hunting  and  his  pretty  parlour 
ways,  and  face  the  open.  What  else  does  any  woman  claim 
from  any  man,  when — oh,  when  the  need  is  urgent?  Father, 
it  was  you  who  taught  me  what  this  Rising  means — it  is 
Faith,  and  decency,  and  happiness  for  England,  fighting 
against  a  rabble  brought  over-seas  from  Germany,  because 
they  cannot  trust  the  English  army.  It  is — the  breath  of  our 
English  gardens  that's  at  stake,  and  yet  such  as  this  Hunters- 
cliff  lad  can  yawn  about  it." 

"  Will  Underwood  yawns,  you  mean,"  snapped  the  Squire. 
"  It  was  Underwood  you  were  thinking  of.  I  share  your 
doubts,  Nance.  He  is  this  and  that,  and  a  few  men  speak- 
ing well  of  him — but  there's  a  flaw  in  him  somewhere.  I 
never  could  set  a  finger  on  it,  but  the  flaw  is  there." 

She  turned  on  him,  with  hot  inconsequence.  "  He  is  not 
proved  as  yet.  I  said  no  more  than  that.  You  never  liked 
him,  father.  You — you  are  unjust." 

"  Well,  no ;  I  never  liked  him.  But  I'm  content  to  wait. 
If  I've  misjudged  him,  I'll  admit  it  frankly.  Does  it  go 
so  very  deep,  child,  this  liking  for  Wild  Will  ?  "  he  broke  off, 
with  rough,  anxious  tenderness.  "  I'm  clumsy  with  women 
— I  always  was — and  you've  no  mother  to  go  to  in  search  of 
a  good,  healthy  cry." 

"  Why  should  it  go  deep  ? "  she  asked,  with  a  pride  that 
would  not  yield  as  yet. 


22  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  Oh,  I've  watched  you  both.  The  ways  of  a  man  and  a 
maid — bless  me,  they  are  old  as  the  hills.  Of  course,  he's 
good  to  look  at,  and  there's  naught  against  him,  so  far  as  I 
know;  but " 

"You  will  let  him  prove  himself.  His  chance  will  not  be 
long  in  coming,  father." 

She  bade  him  good-night  gravely,  yet  with  a  shy,  impulsive 
tenderness,  and  went  up  to  her  own  room.  The  moon  was 
staring  in  through  the  low,  broad  window-space.  A  keen 
frost  was  setting  fingers  on  the  glass  already;  she  brushed 
away  the  delicate  tracery  and  stood  watching  the  silent,  empty 
lands  without.  No  sleet  was  falling  now.  She  could  see 
each  line  of  wall  that  climbed,  dead-black  by  contrast,  up  the 
white  slope  of  the  pastures.  Beyond  and  high  above,  a  steel- 
blue  sky  marked,  ridge  by  ridge,  the  rough,  uncompromising 
outline  of  the  moor. 

It  was  a  scene  desolate  beyond  belief,  and  would  have  chilled 
one  foreign  to  the  country;  but  Nance  looked  up  the  wintry 
slopes  as  if  she  found  a  haven  there.  There  was  no  illusion 
attaching  to  this  riding-out  of  the  war-men  from  Lancashire. 
She  was  not  swayed  by  any  casual  glamour  of  the  pipes,  any 
kilted  pageantry  of  warfare.  Her  father  had  taught  her,  pa- 
tiently enough,  that  the  Stuarts,  though  they  chanced  to  capture 
the  liking  of  most  decent  women,  were  intent  on  graver  business. 
Not  once,  in  the  years  that  had  gone  before  this  call  to  arms, 
had  he  trained  her  to  an  ideal  lower  than  his  own.  The  Stu- 
art, to  his  belief,  stood  for  charity,  for  sacrifice,  for  unbend- 
ing loyalty  to  the  Faith  once  delivered.  And  such  outlook, 
as  he  had  told  her  plainly,  made  neither  for  pageantry  nor 
sloth. 

Nance,  watching  the  sleety  wilderness  outside,  hearing  the 
yelp  of  the  wind  as  it  sprang  from  the  bitter,  eastern  bank 
of  cloud,  recalled  her  father's  teaching  with  a  new,  sudden 
understanding.  This  sleety  land,  with  its  black  field-walls 
climbing  to  the  windy  moor  above,  was  eloquent  in  its  appeal 
to  her.  There  was  storm  and  disaster  now — but  there  was 


THE  FIGHT  ON  THE  MOOR  23 

heather-time  to  come,  and  bees  among  the  ling,  and  the  clear, 
high  sunshine  over  all.  Old  Squire  Demaine,  with  all  his 
rough-and-ready  faults,  had  taught  her  faith. 

She  forgot  her  trouble  touching.  Will  Underwood.  The 
rough,  moonlit  moor  reminded  her,  in  some  odd  way,  .of  Ru- 
pert— of  the  scholar  who  a  little  while  ago,  up  yonder,  had 
taken  some  fancied  quarrel  of  her  own  upon  his  slim  shoul- 
ders. Somewhere,  hidden  by  the  easy  pity  of  the  years,  was 
a  faith  in  this  scholar  who  caused  misgiving  to  his  friends. 
She  remembered  that  her  father — the  last  man  in  Lancashire 
to  be  tolerant  of  a  fool — would  listen  to  no  gibes  at  Rupert's 
expense,  that  he  had  bidden  her,  soon  as  the  hunt  was  up  in 
earnest,  seek  refuge  at  Windyhough. 

These  white,  rough  uplands  did  not  bring  Will  Underwood 
back  to  mind  at  all.  They  brought  only  the  picture  of  a  lean, 
wind-driven  dreamer,  who  had  tramped  the  moors  all  day  for 
the  pleasure  of  sharing  his  own  thoughts  with  the  wilder- 
ness. She  recalled  the  look  in  his  face  when  she  had  sur- 
prised him — the  tired  question  in  it,  as  if  he  were  asking  why 
circumstances  had  piled  up  so  many  odds  against  him ;  then  the 
welcome,  idolatrous  almost  in  its  completeness,  that  his  eyes 
had  given  her  when  he  realised  that  she  was  near,  and  after 
that  the  curt  request  that  Will  Underwood  should  ride  with 
her,  while  he  settled  some  difference  with  his  brother. 

A  woman  likes  to  be  worshipped,  likes  a  man  to  show  fight 
on  her  behalf;  and  Nance,  watching  the  stark,  moonlit  fields, 
for  the  first  time  felt  a  touch  of  something  more  than  pity  for 
the  heir  of  Windyhough. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   NIGHT-RIDER 

DOWN  at  Windyhough,  where  the  old  house  thrust  its  gables 
up  into  the  shelter  of  its  firs  and  leafless  sycamores,  Sir  Jasper 
Royd  sat  listening  to  the  messenger  who  had  ridden  from 
Squire  Roger's.  Lady  Royd,  who  kept  her  beauty  still  at  five- 
and-forty,  and  with  it  some  air  of  girlish  petulance  and  wilful- 
ness,  sat  on  the  other  side  of  the  hearth.  Oliphant  of  Muir- 
house  stood  between  them,  after  supping  hastily,  with  the  air 
of  a  man  who  cannot  sit  unless  the  saddle  carries  him. 

"  We  owe  you  a  great  debt  for  bringing  in  the  news,"  Sir 
Jasper  was  saying. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,  sir,"  put  in  Lady  Royd,  with 
sharpness  and  a  hint  of  coquetry.  "  You  are  robbing  me  of  a 
husband." 

"  Nay,  surely,"  said  Oliphant,  with  a  touch  of  his  quick  hu- 
mour. "The  Prince  will  restore  him  to  you  by  and  by. 
We're  all  for  Restoration  these  days,  Lady  Royd." 

"  Oh,  I  know !  And  you've  passed  your  wine  over  the 
water  before  you  set  lips  to  it.  I  know  your  jargon,  Mr.  Oli- 
phant— but  it  is  lives  of  men  you  are  playing  with."  A 
stronger  note  sounded  in  her  spoiled,  lazy  voice;  she  glanced 
at  her  husband,  asking  him  to  understand  her  passion. 

"  Not  playing  with,"  said  the  messenger,  breaking  an  un- 
easy pause.  "  Lives  of  men  were  given  them  to  use." 

"  Yes,  by  gad ! "  broke  in  Sir  Jasper  unexpectedly.  "  I'm 
sixty,  Mr.  Oliphant,  and  the  Prince  needs  me,  and  I  feel  a 
lad  again.  I've  been  fox-hunting  here,  and  shooting,  and 
what  not,  just  to  keep  the  rust  out  of  my  old  bones  in  case 
I  was  needed  by  and  by — but  I  was  spoiling  all  the  while 
for  this  news  you  bring." 

24 


THE  NIGHT-RIDER  25 

"What  are  the  chances,  Mr.  Oliphant?"  asked  Lady  Royd, 
with  odd,  impulsive  eagerness.  "  For  my  part,  I  see  a  county 
of  easy-going  gentlemen  and  bacon-eating  clowns,  who 
wouldn't  miss  one  dinner  for  the  Cause.  The  Cause?  A  few 
lean  Highlanders ;  a  lad  who  happens  to  carry  the  name  of 
Stuart;  the  bagpipes  waking  our  hills  in  protest  with  their 
screeching — righteous  protest,  surely — I  see  no  hope  in  this 
affair." 

Oliphant  was  striding  up  and  down  the  room.  He  halted, 
faced  this  petted  woman  of  the  world ;  and  she  wondered  how 
it  came  that  a  man  so  muddied  and  so  lined  with  weariness 
could  smile  as  if  he  came  down  to  breakfast  after  a  night  of 
pleasant  sleep. 

"  The  chances  ?  All  in  our  favour,  Lady  Royd.  We're 
few,  and  hold  the  Faith.  We  never  count  the  chances;  we 
just  march  on  from  day  to  day."  His  smile  grew  broader. 
"  And,  by  your  leave,  you'll  not  speak  ill  of  the  pipes.  They're 
food  and  drink  to  us,  when  other  rations  fall  a  little  short. 
The  pipes?  You've  never  heard  them,  surely." 

"  Yes,  to  my  cost,"  put  in  the  other  shrewishly.  "  They're 
like — like  an  east  wind  singing  out  of  tune,  I  think." 

So  then  Oliphant  grew  hot  on  the  sudden,  as  Highlanders 
will  when  they  defend  a  thing  that  is  marrow  of  their  bones. 
"  The  pipes  ?  You'll  hear  them  rightly,  I  hope,  before  you 
die.  The  soft,  clear  tongue  of  them!  They'll  drone  to  ye, 
soft  as  summer,  Lady  Royd,  and  bring  the  slopes  o'  Lomond 
to  your  sight — and  you'll  hear  the  bees  all  busy  in  the  thyme ; 
and  then  they'll  snarl  at  you,  and  stretch  your  body  tight  as 
whipcord — and  then  you  taste  the  fight  that's  brewing  up——" 

"  True,"  said  Lady  Royd ;  "  but  you  ask  me  for  my  husband, 
and  I'm  loth  to  part  with  him.  Not  all  the  pipes  in  Scotland 
may  comfort  me  after — after  this  fight  that  you  say  is  brew- 
ing up." 

Sir  Jasper  glanced  at  her.  He  had  followed  her  whimsies 
with  great  chivalry  and  patience  for  six-and-twenty  years, 
because  it  happened  that  he  loved  her,  once  for  all ;  but  he  had 


26  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

not  heard,  till  now,  this  answering  care  for  his  safety,  this 
foolish  and  tempestuous  wish  to  keep  him  by  her  side. 

Oliphant  of  Muirhouse  understood  their  mood.  He  had 
ridden  through  the  lonely  places,  counting  life  cheap;  and 
such  men  grow  quick  of  intuition.  "  Your  husband  ? "  he 
echoed.  "  I  only  claim  his  promises.  He'll  return  to  you, 
after  paying  pleasant  debts." 

"Ah!  but  will  he  return?" 

The  messenger  was  surprised  again  into  open  confession  of 
his  faith.  "  One  way  or  another  you  will  meet — yes.  The 
good  God  sees  to  that,"  he  answered  gravely.  "  And  now, 
Sir  Jasper,  we've  talked  enough,  and  my  bed  lies  ten  miles 
farther  on.  Your  roads  are  quagmires — the  only  bad  things 
I've  found  yet  in  Lancashire." 

"But,  Oliphant,  you'll  stay  the  night  here?  I'll  call  you  at 
daybreak  if  needs  must." 

"  I'll  sleep — a  little  later,  friend — and  at  your  house  another 
day." 

His  smile  was  easy  as  he  bade  farewell  to  Lady  Royd  and 
gripped  his  host's  hand  for  a  moment;  but  Sir  Jasper  saw 
him  stumble  a  little  as  he  made  towards  the  door. 

"  How  far  have  you  ridden  to-day  ?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

"  Oh,  fifty  miles,  no  more — with  a  change  of  horses.  Why 
d'ye  ask  ?  "  said  Oliphant,  turning  in  some  surprise. 

"  Because  you  look  underfed  and  over-ridden,  man.  Stay 
here  the  night,  I  say.  The  Prince  himself  would  not  ask 
more  of  you  if  he  could  see  you  now." 

"  The  Prince  least  of  all,  perhaps.  It  is  his  way  to  shift 
burdens  on  to  his  own  shoulders — if  we  would  let  him." 

Lady  Royd  found  a  moment's  respite  from  her  spoiled  and 
stunted  outlook,  from  the  sense  of  foreboding  and  of  coming 
loss — loss  of  the  husband  whom,  in  some  queer  way,  she 
loved.  She  looked  at  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse,  standing  in  the 
doorway  and  looking  backward  at  them;  and  she  wondered 
by  what  gift  he  could  be  sleepless  and  saddle-sore,  serene 
and  temperately  gay,  all  at  the  one  time. 


THE  NIGHT-RIDER  27 

"  Mr.  Oliphant,"  she  said,  "  this  lad  with  the  Stuart  name 
gets  more  than  his  deserts.  He  has  few  men  like  yourself 
among  his  following,  surely?" 

"  He  has  many  better  men."  Oliphant,  weary  of  every- 
thing except  the  need  to  get  his  ten-mile  errand  done  and 
snatch  the  sleep  he  needed,  bowed  prettily  enough  to  his 
hostess.  "  The  Prince,  God  bless  him,  sets  the  keynote  for 
us  all.  He  makes  weaklings  into — something  better,  Lady 
Royd." 

Royd's  wife,  she  knew  not  why,  thought  suddenly  of  Ru- 
pert, her  elder-born,  and  she  yielded  to  the  temper  that  had 
not  been  curbed  throughout  her  married  life.  "  Then  would 
God  my  son  could  come  under  the  Prince's  discipline !  He's 
the  heir  to  Windyhough — laugh  with  me,  Mr.  Oliphant,  while 
I  tell  you  what  a  weakling  he  is.  He  can  ride,  after  a  fashion 
— but  not  to  hounds ;  he  can  only  read  old  books  in  the  library, 
or  take  his  gun  up  to  these  evil  moors  my  husband  loves." 

Sir  Jasper's  temper  was  slow  to  catch  fire,  but  it  was  burn- 
ing now  with  a  fierce,  dismaying  heat.  He  would  have  spoken 
— words  that  would  never  be  forgotten  afterwards  between 
his  wife  and  him — if  Oliphant  had  not  surprised  them  both  by 
the  quietness  of  his  interruption. 

"  He  has  had  no  chance  to  prove  himself,  I  take  it  ?  "  he 
broke  in,  with  a  certain  tender  gravity.  "  I  was  in  that  plight 
once — and  the  chance  came — and  it  seemed  easy  to  accept  it. 
Good-night  to  you,  Lady  Royd,  and  trust  your  son  a  little 
more." 

Sir  Jasper  was  glad  to  follow  his  guest  out  of  doors  into 
the  courtyard,  where  a  grey-blue  moon  was  looking  down  on 
the  late-fallen  sleet.  Oliphant's  horse,  tied  to  the  bridle-ring 
at  the  door,  was  shivering  in  the  wind,  and  his  master  patted 
him  with  the  instinctive,  friendly  comradeship  he  had  for  all 
dumb  things. 

"  Only  ten  more  miles,  old  lad,"  he  muttered,  hunting  for 
sugar  in  the  pockets  of  his  riding-coat,  and  finding  two  small 
pieces. 


28  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

As  he  was  untying  the  bridle  a  sound  of  feet  came  up  the 
roadway.  The  courtyard  gate  was  opened,  and  three  figures, 
unheroic  all  of  them,  came  trudging  in.  They  crossed  the 
yard  slowly,  and  they  were  strangely  silent. 

Sir  Jasper  and  his  guest  stared  at  the  three  in  blank  sur- 
prise as  they  drew  near.  The  moonlight  showed  them  Mau- 
rice, carrying  a  black  eye  and  a  battered  face  with  the  jaunti- 
ness  inborn  in  him,  and  Rupert,  bending  a  little  under  the 
bruises  that  were  patent  enough,  and  a  horse  that  moved  de- 
jectedly. 

"  You've  been  hunting  with  a  vengeance,  boys,"  said  Sir 
Jasper,  after  long  scrutiny  of  the  sons  who  stood  shame- 
facedly at  attention.  "  Who  was  it  marked  your  face  so  pret- 
tily, Maurice?" 

"  It  was  Rupert,  sir.  We  had  a  quarrel — and  he  half-killed 
me — I  couldn't  make  him  yield." 

Sir  Jasper  was  aware  of  an  unreasoning  happiness,  a  sense 
that,  in  the  thick  of  coming  dangers,  he  had  found  something 
for  which  he  had  been  searching  many  years.  If  he  had  been 
Squire  Demaine,  his  intimate  friend  and  neighbour,  he  would 
have  clapped  Rupert  on  the  back,  would  have  bidden  his  sons 
drown  their  quarrel  in  a  bumper.  But  he  was  more  scholarly, 
less  hale  of  body  than  Roger  Demaine,  and  he  tasted  this  new 
joy  as  if  he  feared  to  lose  its  flavour.  He  had  fought  Ru- 
pert's cause  so  long,  had  defended  him  against  the  mother 
who  despised  and  flouted  him.  Under  all  disappointment  had 
been  the  abiding  faith  that  his  heir  would  one  day  prove  him- 
self. And  now — here  was  Rupert,  bruised  and  abashed,  and 
Maurice,  proud  of  this  troublesome  brother  who  had  fought 
and  would  not  yield. 

It  was  all  so  workaday,  so  slight  a  matter;  but  Sir  Jasper 
warmed  to  these  two  lads  as  if  they  had  returned  from  cap- 
turing a  city  for  the  rightful  King.  They  were  bone  of  his 
bone,  and  they  had  fought  together,  and  Rupert  had  forgotten 
that  he  was  born  a  weakling. 

Oliphant  of  Muirhouse  looked  on.     He  remembered  both 


THE  NIGHT-RIDER  29 

lads  well,  for  he  had  halted  often  at  Windyhough  during  these 
last  troubled  years,  had  seen  the  heir  grow  into  reedy  and  neg- 
lected manhood,  the  younger  brother  claiming  notice  and  re- 
gard from  every  one,  by  reason  of  his  ready  wit,  his  cheeri- 
ness,  his  skill  at  sports  of  all  kinds.  From  the  first  Oliphant's 
sympathy  had  been  with  the  elder-born,  with  the  scholar  at 
whom  men  laughed ;  for  he  could  never  quite  forget  his  own 
past  days.  He  looked  on  to-night,  glad  of  this  touch  of  human 
comedy  that  came  to  lighten  his  desolate  rides  between  one  post 
of  danger  and  the  next. 

"  Come,  lads,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  with  gruff  kindliness,  "  you 
were  fools  to  seek  a  quarrel.  Brother  should  love  brother  " — 
he  laughed  suddenly,  a  boy's  laugh  that  disdains  maxims — "  but 
there's  no  harm  in  a  fight,  just  now  and  then.  What  was  your 
quarrel,  eh  ?  " 

They  glanced  at  each  other ;  but  it  was  Rupert  who  first  broke 
the  silence,  not  Maurice  as  in  bygone  days.  "  We  cannot  tell 
you,  sir,"  he  said,  with  a  dignity  in  odd  contrast  with  his 
swollen,  red-raw  face.  "  Indeed,  we  cannot." 

Sir  Jasper,  out  here  in  the  sleety  wind,  was  not  aware  of  cold 
or  the  coming  hardships.  His  heir  was  showing  firmness,  and 
he  tempted  him  into  some  further  show  of  courage. 

"  Nonsense,  boy !    You  tell  me  all  your  secrets." 

Rupert  lifted  his  battered  face.  "  Not  this  one,  sir — and  if 
Maurice  tells  it " 

"  There,  there !  Get  indoors,  lads,  and  ask  the  housekeeper 
for  a  raw  beefsteak." 

Maurice  went  obediently  enough,  knowing  this  tone  of  his 
father's.  But  Rupert  halted  on  the  moonlit  threshold,  turned 
in  his  odd,  determined  way,  and  came  to  Oliphant's  side.  The 
messenger,  standing  with  an  arm  through  the  bridle  of  his 
restive  horse,  was  embarrassed  by  the  look  in  the  boy's 
eyes — the  eager  glance  of  youth  when  it  meets  its  hero  face 
to  face. 

"  Who  is  your  guest,  father  ?  "  asked  Rupert,  as  a  child  asks 
a  question,  needing  to  be  answered  quickly.  "  He  has  often 


30  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

come  to  Windyhough,  but  always  in  haste.  You  would  never 
tell  me  what  his  name  was." 

"Mr.  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse.  Who  else?"  Sir  Jasper  an- 
swered, surprised  by  this  sudden  question.  And  then  he 
glanced  at  Oliphant,  ashamed  of  his  indiscretion.  "  The  boy 
will  keep  your  secret,"  he  added  hurriedly. 

"  I've  no  doubt  at  all  of  that,  sir,"  said  the  messenger. 

So  then  Rupert  said  little,  because  it  seemed  this  meeting 
was  too  good  to  hope  for  in  a  world  that  had  not  used  him  very 
well.  He  had  heard  talk  of  Oliphant,  while  his  father  sat  be- 
side the  hearth  o'  nights  and  praised  his  loyalty.  From  the 
grooms,  too,  he  had  heard  praise  of  the  horsemanship  of  this 
night-rider,  who  was  here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow,  follow- 
ing the  Stuart's  business.  And,  because  he  had  leisure  for 
many  dreams,  he  had  made  of  Oliphant  a  hero  of  more  im- 
maculate fibre  than  is  possible  in  a  world  of  give-and-take. 

"  Is  father  jesting?  "  asked  the  boy.  "  You  are  " — the  catch 
in  his  voice,  the  battered  face  he  lifted  to  the  moonlight,  were 
instinct  with  that  comedy  which  lies  very  close  to  tears — "  you 
are  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse?  Why,  sir,  I  think  the  Prince  him- 
self could — could  ask  no  more  from  me — if  only  I  were  able." 

His  voice  broke  outright.  And  the  two  elders,  somewhere 
from  the  haunted  lands  of  their  own  boyhood,  heard  the  clear 
music  that  had  been  jarred,  these  many  years,  by  din  of  the 
world's  making. 

"  I'm  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse,"  said  the  messenger  gruffly, 
"  and  that's  not  much  to  boast  of.  Is  there  any  service  I  can 
render  you  ?  " 

Rupert,  astonished  that  this  man  should  be  so  simple  and 
accessible,  blurted  out  the  one  consuming  desire  he  had  in  life. 
"  I  ride  so  clumsily :  teach  me  to  sit  a  horse,  sir,  and  gallop  on 
the  Prince's  business — to  be  like  other  men." 

Oliphant  reached  out  and  grasped  his  hand.  "  That  will  be 
simple  enough  one  day,"  he  said  cheerily.  "  Sir  Jasper,  your 
son  is  staunch.  We'll  need  him  by  and  by." 

Yet  Oliphant,  after  he  had  said  good-bye  and  ridden  out  into 


THE  NIGHT-RIDER  31 

the  white  and  naked  country,  was  feeling  as  tired  and  unheroic 
as  any  man  in  Lancashire.  The  wind  was  pitiless,  the  roads 
evil,  half  between  thaw  and  a  gaining  frost.  Sleep  was  a 
constant  menace  to  him,  for  he  had  had  little  during  the  past 
week.  He  was  saddle-sore,  and  every  bone  of  a  body  not  too 
robust  at  best  seemed  aching  with  desire  for  rest.  Moreover, 
this  land  of  hills,  and  hills  beyond,  riding  desolate  to  the  grey 
sky  and  the  shrouded  moon,  was  comfortless  as  any  step- 
mother. He  knew  that  his  faith,  his  loyalty,  were  sound ;  but 
no  inspiration  reached  him  from  these  tired  and  stubborn 
friends ;  he  was  in  that  mood — it  comes  equally  to  those  who 
have  done  too  ill  or  too  well  in  life — when  he  was  ready  to  ex- 
change all  chances  of  the  future  for  an  hour  of  rest.  He  knew 
that  a  good  horse  was  under  him,  that  his  hands  were  sure  on 
the  reins  whenever  a  sudden  hill  or  a  slippery  turning  met  him 
by  the  way;  for  the  rest,  he  was  chilled  and  lifeless. 

The  last  two  miles  of  his  journey  asked  too  much  of  his 
strength.  He  swayed  in  the  saddle,  and  thought  that  he  must 
yield  to  this  sickness  that  was  creeping  over  him.  Then  quietly 
from  the  gaunt  and  sleety  hills,  Rupert's  voice  came  whisper- 
ing at  his  ear.  He  recalled  the  lad's  bruised  face,  the  passion- 
ate idolatry  he  had  shown  when  he  knew  that  Oliphant  of 
Muirhouse  was  the  guest  at  Windyhough. 

"  By  gad !  the  boy  would  think  me  a  fool  if  I  gave  in  now," 
he  muttered.  "  And  the  message — it  must  go  forward." 

He  rode  with  new  heart  for  the  house  where  his  errand  lay. 
He  got  indoors,  and  gave  his  message.  Then  he  looked  round, 
and  saw  a  couch  that  was  drawn  up  near  the  hearth,  and  for 
four-and-twenty  hours  they  could  not  rouse  him  from  the 
sleep  that  had  carried  him  back  to  Rupert's  land  o'  dreams. 

Rupert  himself,  meanwhile,  had  stood  for  a  while  with  his 
father  in  the  courtyard.  The  sleet  and  the  east  wind  could  not 
interrupt  the  warm  friendship  that  held  between  them. 

"  What  is  the  news,  father  ?  "  he  asked,  breaking  the  silence. 

"  Good  news  enough,  lad.  The  Prince  has  left  Edinburgh 
on  his  march  south — there  has  been  a  ball  at  Holyrood,  all  in 


32  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

the  old  way,  and  they  say  that  only  churls  were  absent.  His 
route  lies  through  Lancashire.  At  long  last,  Rupert,  we're 
needed,  we  men  of  Lancashire." 

"  We  shall  not  fail,"  said  Rupert  buoyantly.  "  How  could 
we,  sir?  The  preparation — the  loyalty  waiting  only  for  its 
Chance — I  forgot,  sir,"  he  finished,  with  sudden,  weary  im- 
potence. "  I'm  not  one  of  you.  I  got  all  this  from  books, 
as  mother  said  to  me  last  night.  She  was  wrong,  for  all  that 
— I  learned  it  at  your  knee." 

They  stood  looking  at  each  other,  father  and  son,  seeking 
help  in  this  bleak  wilderness  of  sleet.  They  were  comrades ; 
yet  now  there  seemed  a  deep  gulf  fixed  between  them,  between 
the  strength  and  pity  of  the  one,  the  weakness  of  the  other. 

"  I  taught  you  no  lies,  at  any  rate,"  said  Sir  Jasper  gruffly. 
"  Let's  go  indoors  and  set  your  face  to  rights." 

"  But,  father,  I  shall  ride  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  other,  with  brusque  tenderness.  "  You 
are  not — not  strong  enough — you  are  untrained  to  stand  the 
hardships  of  a  campaign." 

Rupert's  face  grew  white  and  set,  as  he  understood  the  full 
meaning  of  that  word  "  untrained."  In  the  peaceful  days  it 
had  been  well  enough  for  him  to  stand  apart,  possessed  by  the 
belief  that  he  was  weaker  than  his  fellows ;  it  was  a  matter  of 
his  own  suffering  only ;  but  now  every  loyal  man  in  Lancashire 
was  needed  by  the  Prince.  His  father's  hesitancy,  the  wish  to 
save  him  pain,  were  very  clear  to  him.  He  had  thought,  in 
some  haphazard,  dreamy  way,  that  zeal  and  complete  readi- 
ness to  die,  if  need  be,  for  the  Cause,  were  enough  to  make  a 
soldier  of  him.  But  now  he  realised  that  untrained  men  would 
be  a  hindrance  to  the  march,  that  he  would  be  thwarting,  not 
aiding,  the  whole  enterprise. 

"  There,  you  take  it  hardly,  lad !  "  said  Sir  Jasper,  ill  at  ease. 
"  Your  place  is  here.  You'll  be  needed  to  guard  Windyhough 
and  the  women  while  we're  away." 

"  You  mean  it  in  kindness,  sir,  but — the  fight  will  sweep 
south,  you  tell  me." 


THE  NIGHT-RIDER  33 

"  It  may  sweep  any  way,  once  the  country  is  astir.  You  may 
find  yourself  fighting  against  long  odds,  Rupert,  before  you've 
had  time  to  miss  us.  Come,  it  is  each  to  his  own  work  these 
days." 

In  the  hall,  as  they  went  in,  Lady  Royd  was  making  much 
of  Maurice,  obviously  against  his  will.  His  hurts  must  be 
seen  to — how  had  he  come  by  them? — he  was  looking  grey 
and  ill — Maurice  was  ashamed  of  the  twenty  foolish  questions 
she  put  to  him. 

"  Mother,  I'm  a  grown  man  by  now,"  he  was  saying  as 
Sir  Jasper  entered.  "  The  nursery  days  are  over." 

"  Yes,"  put  in  his  elder  brother,  with  a  quick,  heedless 
laugh,  "  the  nursery  days  are  over,  mother." 

She  turned  to  him,  surprised  by  his  tone  and  new  air  of 
command.  And  on  his  face,  too,  she  saw  the  marks  of  his 
stubborn  fight  with  Maurice;  and  something  stirred  in  her — 
some  instinct  foreign  to  her  easy,  pampered  life — some  touch 
of  pride  that  her  elder-born  could  fight  like  other  men. 

"  So  it  was  you  who  fought  with  Maurice  ?  Miracles  do 
not  come  singly,  so  they  say."  From  sheer  habit  she  could  not 
keep  back  the  gibe.  "  We  shall  have  the  skies  raining,  heroes 
soon  if  the  heir  of  Windyhough " 

"  Be  quiet,  wife !  "  broke  in  Sir  Jasper  hotly.  "  Your  sons 
— God  help  me  that  I  have  to  say  it! — your  sons  will  be 
ashamed  of  you  in  years  to  come." 

Sir  Jasper  had  been  bitter  once  about  his  heir's  weakness. 
He  had  met  and  conquered  that  trouble  long  ago,  as  straight- 
riding  men  do,  and  had  found  a  great  love  for  Rupert, 
a  chivalrous  and  sheltering  love  that,  by  its  very  pity,  broad- 
ened the  father's  outlook  upon  all  men.  Year  by  year,  as  he 
saw  that  pride  meant  more  than  motherhood,  the  rift  had 
grown  wider  between  husband  and  wife,  though  he  had  dis- 
guised it  from  her;  and  this  sudden,  imperative  fury  of  his 
had  been  bred  by  many  yesterdays. 

Lady  Royd  stepped  back,  as  if  he  had  struck  her,  and  a 
strange  quiet  fell  on  all  of  them.  The  wind  had  shifted,  for 


84  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

the  twentieth  time  to-day,  and  was  crying  thinly  round  the 
chimney-stacks.  A  grey,  acrid  smoke  was  trailing  from  the 
hearth,  and  hail  was  beating  at  the  windows.  Somewhere, 
from  the  stables  at  the  rear,  a  farm  dog  was  howling  dis- 
mally. 

Lady  Royd  shivered  as  she  drew  the  lace  more  closely  round 
her  neck.  She  was  helpless  against  this  storm  that  had  gath- 
ered out  of  doors  and  in.  With  an  understanding  too  keen 
for  her  liking,  she  realised  what  this  Rising  was  doing  to  her 
men-folk.  The  breath  of  it  was  abroad,  stormy  and  swift. 
It  had  made  her  husband  restless,  forgetful  of  the  lover's 
homage  that  he  had  given  until  these  last  months ;  it  had  made 
Rupert  leave  his  books  and  dreams,  from  sheer  desire  of  lusti- 
ness ;  it  had  made  Sir  Jasper,  here  in  the  smoky  hall,  with  the 
thin  wind  blowing  through  it,  say  words  of  which  already,  if 
his  face  were  aught  to  go  by,  he  repented. 

It  was  Rupert  that  broke  up  a  silence  that  dismayed  more 
practical  folk.  It  had  been  his  way  to  bear  no  malice;  and 
now,  glancing  at  Lady  Royd,  he  was  aware  that  she  needed 
help.  He  came  to  her  side — diffidently  enough,  as  if  he 
feared  repulse — and  put  a  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"  She  was  right,  sir,"  he  said,  as  if  defending  her  against 
his  father.  "  I'd  not  had  pluck  to  fight  until  to-day.  I — I 
was  not  what  the  heir  should  be." 

Sir  Jasper  saw  that  tears  were  in  his  wife's  eyes,  saw  that 
she  was  over-wrought  and  tired.  "  Get  to  bed,  my  lads,"  he 
said,  with  a  friendly  laugh — "  and  keep  the  peace,  or  I'll  lay 
a  heavy  hand  on  the  pair  of  you." 

When  they  were  alone  he  turned  to  his  wife.  The  wind's 
note  was  louder,  the  hail  beat  hard  and  quick  about  the  win- 
dows, the  farm  dog  was  howling  ceaselessly. 

"  I  was  harsh  just  now,"  he  said. 

"  No."  Her  face  was  older,  yet  more  comely.  "  It  was  I 
who  was  harsh.  Rupert  needed  me  all  these  years,  and  I 
would  not  heed — and  he  was  generous  just  now — and  I'm 
thinking  of  the  years  I've  wasted." 


THE  NIGHT-RIDER  35 

Her  repentance — yet  awhile,  at  any  rate — would  be  short- 
lived ;  for  winter  is  never  a  sudden  and  lasting  convert  to  the 
warmth  of  spring.  Yet  her  grief  was  so  patent,  her  voice  so 
broken  and  so  tender,  that  Sir  Jasper,  in  his  simple  way,  was 
thankful  he  was  leaving  Rupert,  since  leave  him  he  must,  to 
better  cheer  than  he  had  hoped  for. 

"  He'll  find  his  way  one  day,"  he  said.  "  Be  kind  to  him, 
wife — it's  ill  work  for  a  man,  I  tell  you,  to  be  sitting  at  home 
while  other  men  are  fighting.  I'll  not  answer  for  his  temper." 
Then  suddenly  he  smiled.  He's  a  game  pup,  after  all.  To 
see  Maurice's  face  when  they  came  home  together — and  to 
know  that  it  was  Rupert  who  had  knocked  it  so  pleasantly  out 
of  shape " 

"  Is  there  nothing  pleases  men  but  war  ?  "  the  wife  broke  in 
piteously.  "  Nothing  but  blows,  and  bruised  faces " 

"  Nothing  else  in  the  world,  dear  heart — when  war  happens 
to  be  the  day's  business.  Peace  is  well  enough,  after  a  man 
has  earned  it  honestly." 

Lady  Royd  was  tired,  beaten  about  by  this  cold,  northern 
winter  that  had  never  tamed  her  love  of  ease.  "  Then  women 
have  no  place  up  here,"  she  said  fretfully.  "  Bloodshed — how 
we  loathe  it  and  all  your  needless  quarrels !  And  all  the  while 
we  ask  ourselves  what  does  it  matter  which  king  is  on  the 
throne,  so  long  as  our  husbands  are  content  to  stay  at  home? 
Women  surely  have  no  place  up  here." 

Sir  Jasper,  too,  was  tired  in  his  own  way.  "  Yes,  you've  a 
place,"  he  answered  sharply — "  the  place  we  fight  to  give  you. 
There's  only  one  King,  wife — I'm  pledged  to  his  service,  by 
your  leave." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  with  her  pleasant  drawl.  "  I  know 
that  by  heart.  Faith,  and  the  high  adventure,  and  the  King. 
There's  only  one  matter  you  forget — the  wife  who  sits  at 
home,  and  plies  her  needle,  and  fancies  each  stitch  is  a  wound 
her  husband  takes.  You  never  saw  that  dark  side  of  your 
Rising?" 

"  Wounds  ?  "  said  the  other  gruffly.     "  We  hide  them,  wife 


36  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

— that  is  men's  business.  The  fruits  of  them  we  bring  home 
— for  our  wives  to  spend." 

"  Ah,  you're  bitter,"  she  pleaded. 

"  Not  bitter,"  he  said.  "  I'm  a  man  who  knows  his  world 
— or  thinks  he  does.  The  men  earn — and  the  women  spend ; 
and  you  never  guess  how  hard  come  by  is  that  delicate  gift, 
honour,  we  bring  you." 

"Honour?"  She  was  peevish  now.  "I  know  that  word, 
too,  by  heart.  It  brings  grief  to  women.  It  takes  their  men 
afield  when  they  have  all  they  need  at  home.  It  brings  swords 
from  the  scabbard " 

"  It  brings  peace  of  soul,  after  the  wounds  are  healed,"  Sir 
Jasper  interrupted  gravely. 

Will  Underwood  about  this  time  had  reached  his  own  house, 
and  had  found  his  bailiff  waiting  for  him.  He  had  added 
another  wing  to  the  house  in  the  summer,  and  workmen  had 
been  busy  ever  since  in  getting  things  to  rights  indoors  in 
readiness  for  the  ball  which  Underwood  had  planned  for 
Christmas  Eve — a  ball  that  should  outmatch  in  lavishness  and 
pomp  all  previous  revels  of  the  kind. 

"Well,  Eli?"  growled  the  master,  who  was  in  no  good 
mood  to-night.  "Your  face  is  sour  enough.  Have  you 
waited  up  to  tell  me  that  the  men  are  discontented  again  with 
their  wages  ?  " 

"  Nay,  with  their  King,"  said  the  bailiff,  blunt  and  dispas- 
sionate. "  It's  a  pity,  for  we  were  getting  gradely  forrard  with 
the  work — and  you  wanted  all  done  by  Kirstmas,  so  you  said. 
I'd  not  go  up  street  myself  to  see  any  king  that  stepped. 
Poorish  folk  and  kings  are  much  o'  the  same  clay,  I  reckon. 
Sexton  at  th'  end  of  all  just  drops  'em  into  six  feet  o'  wintry 
mould." 

Will  Underwood's  father  had  held  the  like  barren  gospel, 
expressed  in  terms  more  guarded.  Perhaps  some  family  in- 
stinct, at  variance  with  the  coat  he  wore  these  days,  had 
prompted  Will,  at  his  father's  death,  to  keep  as  bailiff  one  of 
the  few  "  levellers  "  who  were  to  be  found  in  this  loyal  corner 


THE  NIGHT-RIDER  37 

of  the  north.  If  so,  he  should  have  stood  by  his  choice;  but 
instead  he  yielded  to  childish  and  unreasoning  passion. 

"  D'ye  think  I'm  missing  my  bed  at  this  time  o'  night  to  hear 
your  ranting  politics?  It  would  be  a  poor  king  that  couldn't 
prick  your  windbag  for  you,  Eli.  Stick  to  your  ledgers  and 
the  workmen " 

"  It's  them  I'm  trying  to  stick  to,"  broke  in  Eli,  with  that 
impassive  dead-weight  of  unbelief  which  is  like  a  buckler  to 
some  men.  "  The  workmen  are  all  gone  daft  about  some 
slip  o'  Belial  they  call  Stuart  Charlie.  Squire  Demaine  has 
been  among  and  about  them,  talking  of  some  moonshine  about 
a  Rising ;  and  Sir  Jasper  Royd  has  been  among  'em ;  and,  what 
with  one  and  t'  other,  the  men  are  gone  daft,  I  tell  you.  They 
talk  in  daylight  o'  what  they  dursen't  whisper  to  the  dark  a  few 
months  since;  they're  off  to  the  wars,  they  reckon,  and  you 
can  whistle,  maister,  for  your  carpenters  and  painters." 

Underwood  fidgeted  up  and  down  the  room,  and  Eli 
watched  him  furtively.  The  bailiff,  apart  from  his  negative 
creed  that  every  man  was  probably  a  little  worse  than  his 
neighbour,  and  princes  blacker  than  the  rest,  was  singularly 
alive  to  his  own  interests.  He  had  a  comfortable  billet  here, 
and  was  aware  of  many  odd,  unsuspected  channels  by  which 
he  could  squeeze  money  from  the  workmen  busy  with  the  new 
wing  of  the  house ;  it  did  not  suit  his  interests  that  the  master 
should  ride  out  to  lose  his  head  in  company  with  Sir  Jasper 
and  Squire  Demaine. 

"  Stick  to  the  chap  that's  sitting  on  a  throne,  maister. 
That's  my  advice,"  he  said,  gauging  the  other's  irresolution  to 
a  nicety.  "  Weights  are  heavy  to  lift,  especially  when  they've 
been  there  for  a  long  while." 

Will  Underwood  found  his  better  self  for  a  moment.  He 
remembered  the  way  of  Sir  Jasper,  the  look  on  Nance's  face 
as  she  bade  him  ask  for  her  kerchief  when  he  was  ready  to  go 
out  on  a  loyal  errand.  A  distaste  of  Eli  seized  him ;  there 
was  no  single  line  of  the  man's  squat  body,  no  note  of  his 
voice,  that  did  not  jar  on  him. 


38  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  Your  tongue's  like  a  file,  Eli,"  he  snapped.  "  You  forget 
that  I'm  a  King's  man,  too — a  Stuart  man." 

"  Nay,  not  so  much  o'  one,"  broke  in  the  other  dryly,  taking 
full  advantage  of  an  old  servant's  tyranny.  "  Your  father 
was  weaned  on  thirst  and  brimstone,  maister;  and  he  was 
reared,  he  was,  on  good,  hot  Gospeller's  stuff,  such  as  they 
used  to  preach  at  Rigstones  Chapel ;  and  he  never  lost  the 
habit  when  he  gat  up  i'  the  world.  Nay,  there's  naught 
Stuart  about  ye." 

Will  Underwood,  standing  with  a  foot  in  either  camp,  was 
accused  not  so  much  by  Eli's  blunt,  unlovely  harshness  as 
by  his  own  judgment  of  himself.  He  knew,  now  that  he  was 
compelled  to  ask  questions  of  himself,  that  all  his  instincts, 
tap  them  deeply  enough,  were  against  monarchy  of  any  sort — 
against  monarchy  of  soul  over  body,  against  the  God  these 
Catholic  gentry  worshipped,  against  restraints  of  all  kinds. 
He  saw  Rigstones  Chapel,  standing  harsh  against  the  moor — 
the  home  of  a  lonely,  obscure  sect  unknown  beyond  its  own 
borders,  a  sect  that  had  the  east  wind's  bitterness  for  creed, 
but  no  remembrance  of  the  summer's  charity.  He  remem- 
bered, as  a  little  chap,  going  to  service  at  his  father's  side,  re- 
calling the  thunder  and  denunciation  from  the  pulpit,  the 
scared  dreams  that  had  shared  his  bed  with  him  when  after- 
wards he  went  to  sleep  on  Sabbath  nights. 

Underwood  got  himself  in  hand  again.  Those  days  were 
far  off,  surely.  Despite  Eli's  unbelieving  face,  confronting 
him,  he  was  striving  to  forget  that  he  had  ever  shared  those 
moorland  walks  to  Rigstones  Chapel.  His  father  had  learned 
gradually  that  it  was  absurd  to  credit  a  score  of  people,  as- 
sembled in  a  wayside  chapel,  with  the  certainty  that,  out  of  the 
world's  millions,  they  alone  were  saved;  and  afterwards 
this  same  father  had  bought  a  fine  house,  because  the 
squire  who  owned  it  had  gambled  credit  and  all  else  away. 
And  the  son  had  found  a  gift  for  riding  horses,  had  learned 
from  women's  faces  that  they  liked  the  look  of  him ;  and,  from 
small  and  crude  beginnings,  he  had  grown  to  be  Wild  Will,  the 


THE  NIGHT-RIDER  39 

hunter  who  never  shirked  his  fences,  the  gay  lover  who  had 
gathered  about  himself  a  certain  fugitive  romance  that  had 
not  been  tested  yet  in  full  daylight. 

Eli  watched  his  master's  face.  The  hour  was  late.  The 
wind  was  shrill  and  busy  here,  as  it  was  at  Windyhough. 
The  world  of  the  open  moor,  with  its  tempests  and  its  down- 
rightness,  intruded  into  this  snug  house  of  Underwood.  Will 
was  shut  off  from  his  intimates,  from  the  easy,  heedless  life, 
that  had  grown  to  be  second  nature  to  him.  He  was  aware  of 
a  great  loneliness,  a  solitude  that  his  bailiff's  company  seemed, 
not  to  lessen,  but  to  deepen.  In  some  odd  way  he  was  stand- 
ing face  to  face  with  the  realities  of  this  Stuart  love  that  had 
been  a  pastime  to  him,  a  becoming  coat  to  wear  when  he 
dined  or  hunted  with  his  friends.  There  was  no  pastime  now 
about  the  matter.  He  thought  of  Sir  Jasper  Royd,  of  Squire 
Demaine,  of  others  he  could  name  who  were  ready  to  go  out 
into  the  wilderness  because  the  time  for  words  was  over  and 
the  time  for  deeds  had  come. 

"  You're  not  just  pleased,  like,  with  all  this  moonshine  about 
the  lad  wi'  yellow  hair,"  said  Eli  guardedly.  "  Now,  there, 
maister!  I  allus  said  ye  had  your  grandfather's  stark  com- 
mon sense." 

Will  Underwood  did  not  heed  him.  He  began  to  pace  up 
and  down  the  floor  with  the  fury  that  Squire  Demaine,  not 
long  ago,  had  likened  to  that  of  a  wild  cat  caught  in  a  trap. 
It  was  so  plain  to  him,  in  this  moment  of  enlightenment,  how 
great  a  price  these  friends  of  his  were  ready  to  pay  without 
murmur  or  question  of  reward.  They  had  schooled  them- 
selves to  discipline ;  they  were  trained  soldiers,  in  fact,  ready 
for  blows  or  sacrifice,  whichever  chanced ;  their  passing  of  the 
loyal  toast  across  the  water  had  been  a  comely,  vital  ritual, 
following  each  day's  simple  prayer  for  restoration  *  of  the 
Stuart  Monarchy. 

And  he?  Will  listened  to  the  gale  that  hammered  at  the 
window,  saw  Eli's  inquisitive,  hard  face,  fancied  himself  pacing 
again  the  moorland  road  that  led  to  Rigstones  Chapel  and  its 


40  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

gospel  of  negation.  His  frippery  was  stripped  from  him. 
He  felt  himself  a  liar  among  honest  men.  He  could  find  no 
sneer  to  aim  at  the  high,  romantic  daring  of  these  folk  who 
were  about  to  follow  a  Prince  they  had  not  seen ;  for  he  knew 
that  he  was  utterly  untrained  to  such  sacrifice  as  was  asked 
of  him.  To  give  up  this  house  of  his,  the  pleasant  meetings 
at  the  hunt  or  by  the  covert-side;  to  put  his  neck  on  the 
block,  most  likely,  for  the  sake  of  a  most  unbusinesslike  trans- 
action— it  was  all  so  remote  from  the  play-actor's  comedy 
in  which  he  had  been  a  prime  figure  all  these  years.  He  had 
not  dreamed  that  Prince  Charles  Edward,  in  sober  earnest, 
would  ever  bring  an  army  into  pleasant  England  to  disturb 
its  peace. 

Eli  watched  the  irresolution  in  his  face.  He,  at  least,  was 
business-like.  He  had  none  of  the  spirit  that  takes  men  out 
on  the  forlorn  hope,  and  he  measured  each  moment  of  his  life 
as  a  chance  for  immediate  and  successful  barter. 

"  Maister,"  he  said  quietly,  "  you've  not  heard,  may 
be,  the  rumour  that's  going  up  and  down  the  country- 
side?" 

"  Bad  news  ?  "  snapped  Underwood.  "  You  were  always 
ready  to  pass  on  that  sort  of  rumour." 

"  Well,  /  call  it  good  news.  They  say  Marshal  Wade  has 
men  enough  under  him  to  kill  half  Lancashire — and  he's  march- 
ing down  this  way  from  Newcastle  to  cut  off  these  pesty 
Scotchmen." 

Will  Underwood  turned  sharply.  "  Is  your  news  sure, 
Eli?" 

"  Sure  as  judgment.  I  had  it  from  one  of  Wade's  own 
riders,  who's  been  busy  hereabouts  these  last  days,  trying  to 
keep  silly  country-folk  from  leaving  their  homes  for  sake  o' 
moonshine.  He  laughed  at  this  pretty-boy  Prince,  I  tell  ye, 
saying  he  was  no  more  than  a  lad  who  tries  to  rob  an  orchard 
with  the  big  farmer  looking  on." 

Underwood  questioned  him  in  detail  about  this  messenger 
of  Marshal  Wade's,  and  from  the  bailiff's  answers,  knowing 


THE  NIGHT-RIDER  41 

the  man's  shrewdness,  he  grew  sure  that  the  odds  were  ludi- 
crously against  the  Prince. 

"  I'm  pledged  to  the  Stuart  Cause.  You  may  go,  Eli,"  he 
said,  with  the  curtness  he  mistook  for  strength. 

"  Ay,  you're  pledged,  maister.  But  is  it  down  in  black  and 
white?  As  a  plain  man  o'  business,  I  tell  ye  no  contract  need 
be  kept  unless  it's  signed  and  sealed." 

"  And  honour,  you  old  fool  ?  "  snapped  Underwood,  afraid 
of  his  own  conscience. 

"  Honour  ?  That's  for  gentry-folk  to  play  with.  You  and 
me,  maister,  were  reared  at  Rigstones  Chapel,  where  there  was 
no  slippery  talk  o'  that  kind.  It's  each  for  his  own  hand,  to 
rive  his  way  through  to  the  Mercy  Throne.  It's  a  matter  o' 
business,  surely — we  just  creep  and  clamber  up,  knowing 
we've  to  die  one  day — and  we've  to  keep  sharp  wits  about  us, 
if  we're  to  best  our  neighbour  at  the  job.  It  would  be  a  poor 
do,  I  reckon,  if  ye  lost  your  chance  by  letting  some  other  body 
squeeze  past  ye,  and  get  in  just  as  th'  Gates  were  shutting, 
leaving  ye  behind." 

The  whole  bleak  past  returned  to  Will  Underwood.  He 
saw,  as  if  it  stood  before  him  harsh  against  the  rough  hillocks 
of  the  moor,  the  squat  face  of  Rigstones  Chapel.  He  heard 
again  the  gospel  of  self-help,  crude,  arid,  and  unwashed,  that 
had  thundered  about  his  boyhood's  ears  when  his  father  took 
him  to  the  desolation  that  was  known  as  Sabbath  to  the  sect 
that  worshipped  there.  It  had  been  all  self-help  there,  in  this 
world's  business  or  the  next — all  a  talk  of  gain  and  barter — 
and  never,  by  any  chance,  a  hint  of  the  over-glory  that  counts 
sacrifice  a  pleasant  matter,  leading  to  the  starry  heights. 

"  Eli,  I  washed  my  hands  of  all  that  years  ago,"  he  said. 

"  Ay,  and,  later  on  try  to  wash  'em  of  burning  brimstone, 
maister — it  sticks,  and  it  burns,  does  the  hell-fire  you  used  to 
know." 

There  is  something  in  a  man  deeper  than  his  own  schooling 
of  himself — a  something  stubborn,  not  to  be  denied,  that 
springs  from  the  graves  where  his  forefathers  lie.  To-night, 


42  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

as  he  watched  Eli's  grim  mouth,  the  clean-shaven  upper  lip 
standing  out  above  his  stubby  beard,  as  he  listened  to  his  talk 
of  brimstone,  he  was  no  longer  Underwood,  debonair  and  glib 
of  tongue.  He  was  among  his  own  people  again — so  much 
among  them  that  he  seemed  now,  not  only  to  see  Rigstones 
Chapel,  but  to  be  living  the  old  life  once  more,  in  the  little 
house,  near  the  watermill  that  had  earned  the  beginnings  of 
his  grandfather's  riches.  Thought  by  thought,  impulse  by 
impulse,  he  was  divided  from  these  folk  of  later  years — the 
men  and  women  who  hunted,  dined,  and  danced,  with  the 
single  purpose  behind  it  all — the  single  hope  that  one  day  they 
would  be  privileged  to  give  up  all,  on  the  instant  call,  for 
loyalty  to  the  King  who  reigned  in  fact,  if  not  in  name.  To- 
night, with  Eli's  ledger-like,  hard  face  before  him,  Under- 
wood yielded  to  the  narrower  and  more  barren  teaching  that 
had  done  duty  for  faith's  discipline  at  Rigstones  Chapel.  And 
yet  he  would  not  admit  as  much. 

"  You're  a  sly  old  sinner,  Eli,"  he  said,  with  a  make-believe 
of  the  large,  rollicking  air  which  he  affected. 

The  bailiff,  glancing  at  his  master's  face,  knew  that  he  had 
prevailed.  "  Ay,  just  thereby,"  he  said,  his  face  inscrutable 
and  hard.  "  But  one  way  or  another,  I  mean  to  keep  free  o' 
brimstone  i'  the  next  world.  It's  all  a  matter  o'  business,  and 
I  tell  ye  so." 

Underwood  went  out  into  the  frosty,  moonlit  night,  and 
paced  up  and  down  the  house-front.  His  forebears  had 
given  hrm  one  cleanly  gift,  at  least — he  needed  always,  when  in 
the  thick  of  trouble,  to  get  away  from  house-walls,  out  into 
the  open.  The  night  was  clear,  between  one  storm  and  the 
next,  and  the  seven  lamps  of  Charlie's  Wain  swung  high  above 
his  head.  He  had  to  make  his  choice,  once  for  all,  and  knew 
it — the  choice  between  the  gospel  of  self-help  and  the  wider 
creed  that  sends  men  out  to  a  simple,  catholic  sacrifice  of 
houseroom  and  good  living. 

He  looked  at  the  matter  from  every  side,  businesslike  as  his 
father  before  him.  There  were  many  pledges  he  had  given 


THE  NIGHT-RIDER  43 

that  he  would  join  his  intimates  when  the  summons  came.  If 
they  returned  from  setting  a  Stuart  on  the  throne,  the  place 
he  had  won  among  them  would  be  valueless.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  Eli's  news  made  it  sure  that  they  would  not  return, 
that,  if  they  kept  whole  skins  at  all,  they  would  be  driven  into 
exile  overseas.  He  knew,  too,  that  there  were  many  lukewarm 
men,  prudent  doubters,  even  among  the  gentry  here  whose 
every  instinct  had  been  trained  to  the  Stuart's  service.  The 
few  hot-headed  folk — the  dreamers — were  riding  out  to  dis- 
aster certain  and  foreknown — but  there  would  be  practical, 
cool  men  enough  left  here  in  Lancashire  to  keep  him  company. 

And  there  was  Nance.  He  was  on  ground  less  sure  now. 
It  lay  deeper  than  he  guessed,  deeper  than  his  love  of  hunting 
and  good-living,  his  passion  for  Nance  Demaine.  She  was 
at  once  his  good  and  evil  angel,  and  to-night  he  had  to 
choose  his  road.  All  that  was  best  in  his  regard  for  her 
pointed  to  the  strict,  narrow  road  of  honour.  And  she  had 
promised  him  her  kerchief  when  he  returned  from  following 
that  road.  And  yet — to  lose  life  and  lands,  may  be — at  best, 
to  be  a  fugitive  in  foreign  countries — would  that  help  him 
nearer  to  the  wooing?  If  he  stayed  here,  she  would  be  dere- 
lict at  Windyhough,  would  need  his  help.  He  could  ride 
down  to  the  house  each  day,  be  at  hand  to  tempt  her  with  the 
little  flatteries  that  mean  much  when  women  are  left  in  a 
house  empty  of  all  men-folk.  And,  if  danger  came  up  the 
moors  after  the  Rising  was  crushed  at  birth  by  Marshal  Wade, 
he  would  be  at  hand  to  protect  her. 

To  protect  her.  He  knew,  down  under  all  subterfuge,  that 
such  as  Nance  find  the  surest  protection  when  their  men  are 
riding  straight,  and  he  was  not  riding  straight  to-night;  and 
finer  impulses  were  stirring  in  him  than  he  had  felt  through 
five-and-thirty  years  of  self-indulgence. 

He  glanced  at  the  moors,  saw  again  the  squat,  practical  face 
of  Rigstones  Chapel,  heard  Eli  Fletcher's  east-wind,  calculat- 
ing voice.  He  was  true  to  his  breed  to-night,  as  he  sur- 
rendered to  the  bleak,  unlovely  past. 


44  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  Fools  must  gang  their  gait,"  he  muttered,  "  but  wise  men 
stay  at  home." 

Eli  Fletcher  was  crossing  the  hall  as  he  went  in,  and 
glanced  at  the  master's  face.  "  Shall  we  get  forrard  wi'  the 
building  ?  "  he  asked,  needing  no  answer. 

"Ay,  Eli.  And  we'll  dance  at  Christmas,  after  this  ill- 
guided  Rising  is  ended." 

"  You're  your  father  over  again,"  said  Eli,  with  grim  ap- 
proval. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   HURRIED  DAYS 

UNEASY  days  had  come  to  Lancashire.  The  men  had  grown 
used  to  security,  save  for  the  risk  of  a  broken  neck  on  hunt- 
ing-days, their  wives  pampered  and  extravagant;  for  peace, 
of  the  unhealthy  sort,  saps  half  their  vigour  from  men  and 
women  both.  They  had  nothing  to  fear,  it  seemed.  There 
had  been  wars  overseas,  and  others  threatened;  but  their  bat- 
tles had  been  fought  for  them  by  foreign  mercenaries  of  King 
George's.  For  the  rest,  Lancashire  hunted  and  dined  and 
diced,  secure  in  the  beauty  of  her  women,  the  strength  of  her 
men  who  rode  to  hounds  and  made  love  in  the  sleepy  intervals. 

And  now  the  trumpet-call  had  sounded.  None  spoke  abroad 
of  the  news  that  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse  and  other  messengers 
were  bringing  constantly;  but,  when  doors  were  closed,  there 
was  eager  talk  of  what  was  in  the  doing.  And  the  elders  of 
die  company  were  aware  that,  for  every  man  who  held  loyalty 
fast  in  his  two  hands,  there  were  five  at  least  who  were 
guarded  in  devotion,  five  who  spoke  with  their  lips,  but  whose 
Hearts  were  set  on  safety  and  the  longing  to  enjoy  more  hunt- 
ing days. 

It  was  this  lukewarmness  that  harassed  and  exasperated 
men  like  Sir  Jasper  and  Squire  Demaine.  Better  open  ene- 
mies, they  felt — those  who  were  frankly  ranged  against  the 
Old  Faith,  the  Old  Monarchy,  the  old  traditions — than  easy- 
going friends  who  would  talk  but  would  not  act.  Here  on 
the  windy  heights  of  Lancashire  they  were  learning  already 
what  the  stalwarts  farther  north  were  feeling — an  intolerable 
sickness,  an  impatience  of  those  who  wished  for  the  return 
of  the  old  order,  but  had  not  faith  enough  to  strike  a  blow  for 
it. 

45 


46  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

Yet  there  were  others;  and  day  by  day,  as  news  of  the 
Prince's  march  drifted  down  to  Windyhough,  Sir  Jasper  was 
heartened  to  find  that  after  all,  he  would  bring  a  decent  com- 
pany to  join  the  Rising.  Meanwhile,  the  lives  they  were  liv- 
ing day  by  day  seemed  odd  to  thinking,  men  who,  like  Sir 
Jasper,  understood  how  imminent  was  civil  war,  and  what  the 
horrors  of  it  were.  The  farmers  rode  to  market,  sold  their 
sheep  and  cattle,  returned  sober  or  otherwise  according  to 
force  of  habit,  just  as  at  usual  times.  In  the  village  border- 
ing Windyhough  the  smith  worked  at  his  bellows,  the  cobbler 
was  busy  as  ever  with  making  boots  and  scandal,  the  labour- 
ers' wives — the  shiftless  sort — scolded  their  husbands  into  the 
alehouse,  while  the  more  prudent  ones  made  cheery  hearths 
for  them  at  home.  It  seemed  incredible  that  before  the  year 
was  out  there  would  be  such  a  fire  kindled  in  this  peaceful 
corner  of  the  world  as  might  burn  homesteads  down,  and 
leave  children  fatherless,  if  things  went  amiss  with  Prince 
Charles  Edward. 

But  Sir  Jasper  let  no  doubts  stay  long  with  him.  Things 
would  go  well.  If  the  risks  were  great,  so  was  the  recom- 
pense. A  Stuart  safely  on  the  throne  again;  English  gentle- 
men filling  high  places  where  foreigners  were  now  in  favour; 
the  English  tongue  heard  frequently  at  Court ;  a  return  of  the 
days  when  Church  and  King  meant  more  than  an  idle  toast — 
surely  the  prize  was  worth  the  hazard. 

He  carried  a  sore  heart  on  his  own  account  these  days. 
He  had  a  wife  and  sons  at  Windyhough;  he  loved  the  house 
that  had  grown  old  in  company  with  his  race;  he  had  no  per- 
sonal gain  in  this  adventure  of  the  Prince's,  no  need  of  rec- 
ompense nor  wish  for  it;  and  sometimes,  when  he  was  tired- 
out  or  when  he  had  found  the  younger  gentry  irresolute  in 
face  of  the  instant  call  to  arms,  he  grew  weak  and  foolish, 
as  if  he  needed  to  learn  from  the  everlasting  hills  about  him 
that  he  was  human  after  all.  And  at  these  times  his  faith 
shone  low  and  smoky,  like  a  fire  that  needs  a  keen  breath  of 
wind  to  kindle  it  afresh. 


THE  HURRIED  DAYS  47 

On  one  of  these  days,  near  dusk,  as  he  rode  home  across  the 
moor,  dispirited  because  no  news  had  followed  Oliphant's  mes- 
sage of  a  week  ago,  a  rider  overtook  him  at  a  spurring  gal- 
lop, checked  suddenly,  and  turned  in  saddle. 

"  I  was  for  Windyhough,"  he  panted.  "  You've  saved  me 
three  miles,  sir — and,  gad !  my  horse  will  bless  you." 

"  The  news,  Oliphant  ?     The  news  ?     I'm  wearying  for  it." 

"  Be  ready  within  the  week.  The  Prince  is  into  Annan — 
Carlisle  will  fall — get  your  men  and  arms  together.  Pass  on 
the  word  to  Squire  Demaine." 

"And  the  signal?" 

"  Wait  till  I  bring  it,  or  another.  Be  ready,  and — God  save 
the  King!" 

Here  on  the  hill-tops,  while  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse  breathed 
his  horse  for  a  moment,  the  two  men  looked,  as  honest  folk 
do,  straight  into  each  other's  eyes.  Sir  Jasper  saw  that  Oli- 
phant was  weary  in  the  cause  of  well-doing;  that  was  his  trade 
in  life,  and  he  pursued  it  diligently ;  but  the  older  man  was  not 
prepared  for  the  sudden  break  and  tenderness  in  the  rider's 
voice  as  he  broke  off  to  cry  "  God  save  the  King ! "  There 
was  no  bravado  possible  up  here,  where  sleety,  austere  hills 
were  the  only  onlookers;  the  world's  applause  was  far  off, 
and  in  any  case  Oliphant  was  too  saddle-sore  and  hungry  to 
care  for  such  light  diet ;  yet  that  cry  of  his — resolute,  gay  al- 
most— told  Sir  Jasper  that  two  men,  here  on  the  uplands,  were 
sharing  the  same  faith. 

"  God  save  the  King !  "  said  Sir  Jasper,  uncovering ;  "  and 
— Oliphant,  you'll  take  a  pinch  of  snuff  with  me.'* 

Oliphant  laughed — the  tired  man's  laugh  that  had  great 
pluck  behind  it — and  dusted  his  nostrils  with  the  air  of  one 
who  had  known  courts  and  gallantry.  "  They  say  it  guards 
a  man  against  chills,  Sir  Jasper — and  one  needs  protection  of 
that  sort  in  Lancashire.  Your  men  are  warm  and  Catholic — 
but  your  weather  and  your  roads — de'il  take  them !  " 

"  Our  weather  bred  us,  Oliphant.     We'll  not  complain." 

Oliphant  of  Muirhouse  glanced  at  him.     "  By  gad !  you're 


48  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

tough,  sir,"  he  said,  with  that  rare  smile  of  his  which  folk 
likened  to  sun  in  mid-winter  frost. 

"  By  grace  o'  God,  I'm  tough ;  but  I  never  learned  your 
trick  of  hunting  up  tired  folk  along  the  roads  and  putting  new 
heart  into  them.  How  did  you  learn  the  trick,  Oliphant?" 

It  was  cold  up  here,  and  the  messenger  had  need  to  get  about 
his  business;  but  two  men,  sharing  a  faith  bigger  than  the 
hills  about  them,  were  occupied  with  this  new  intimacy  that 
lay  between  them,  an  intimacy  that  was  tried  enough  to  let 
them  speak  of  what  lay  nearest  to  their  hearts.  Oliphant 
looked  back  along  the  years — saw  the  weakness  of  body,  the 
tired  distrust  of  himself  that  had  hindered  him,  the  groping 
forward  to  the  light  that  glimmered  faint  ahead. 

"  Oh,  by  misadventure  and  by  sorrow — how  else  ?  I'll  take 
another  pinch  of  snuff,  Sir  Jasper,  and  ride  forward." 

"  If  they  but  knew,  Oliphant ! "  The  older  man's  glance 
was  no  less  direct,  but  it  was  wistful  and  shadowed  by  some 
doubt  that  had  taken  him  unawares.  "  We've  all  to  gain,  we 
loyalists,  and  George  has  left  us  little  enough  to  lose.  And 
yet  our  men  hang  back.  Cannot  they  see  this  Rising  as  I  see 
it?  Prosperity  and  kingship  back  again — no  need  to  have  a 
jug  of  water  ready  when  you  drink  the  loyal  toast — the  May- 
pole reared  again  in  this  sour,  yellow-livered  England.  Oli- 
phant, we've  the  old,  happy  view  of  things,  and  yet  our  gentle- 
men hang  back." 

A  cloud  crossed  Oliphant's  persistent  optimism,  too.  In 
experience  of  men's  littleness,  their  shams  and  subterfuges 
when  they  were  asked  to  put  bodily  ease  aside  for  sake  of  bat- 
tle, he  was  older  than  Sir  Jasper.  The  night-riders  of  this 
Rising  saw  the  dark  side,  not  only  of  the  hilly  roads  they 
crossed,  but  of  human  character;  and  in  this  corner  of  Lan- 
cashire alone  Oliphant  knew  to  a  nicety  the  few  who  would 
rise,  sanguine  at  the  call  of  honour,  and  the  many  who  would 
add  up  gain  and  loss  like  figures  in  a  tradesman's  ledger. 

"  Sir  Jasper,"  he  said,  breaking  an  uneasy  silence,   "  the 


THE  HURRIED  DAYS  49 

Prince  will  come  to  his  own  with  few  or  many.  If  it  were 
you  and  I  alone,  I  think  we'd  still  ride  out." 

He  leaned  from  the  saddle,  gripped  the  other's  hand,  and 
spurred  forward  into  the  grey  haze  that  was  creeping  up  the 
moor  across  the  ruddy  sundown. 

Sir  Jasper  followed  him,  at  an  easier  pace.  For  a  while 
he  captured  something  of  Oliphant's  zeal — a  zeal  that  had 
not  been  won  lightly — and  then  again  doubt  settled  on  him, 
cold  as  the  mist  that  grew  thicker  and  more  frosty  as  he  gained 
the  lower  lands.  He  knew  that  the  call  had  come  which 
could  not  be  disobeyed,  and  he  was  sick  with  longing  for  the 
things  that  had  been  endeared  to  him  by  long-continued  peace. 
There  was  Rupert,  needing  a  father's  guidance,  a  father's  help 
at  every  turn,  because  he  was  a  weakling;  he  had  not  known 
till  now  how  utterly  he  loved  the  lad.  There  was  his  wife, 
who  was  wayward  and  discontented  these  days ;  but  he  had 
not  forgotten  the  beauty  of  his  wooing-time.  There  was  all 
to  lose,  it  seemed,  in  spite  of  his  brave  words  not  long  ago.  • 

Resolute  men  feel  these  things  no  less — nay,  more,  perhaps — 
than  the  easy-going.  Their  very  hatred  of  weakness,  of 
swerving  from  the  straight,  loyal  path,  reacts  on  them,  and 
they  find  temptation  doubly  strong.  Sir  Jasper,  as  he  rode 
down  into  the  nipping  frost  that  hung  misty  about  the  chim- 
ney-stacks below  him,  had  never  seen  this  house  of  his  so 
comely,  so  likeable.  Temptation  has  a  knack  of  rubbing  out 
all  harsher  lines,  of  showing  a  stark,  mid-winter  landscape  as 
a  land  of  plenty  and  of  summer.  There  were  the  well  ordered 
life,  the  cheery  greetings  with  farmer-folk  and  hinds  who 
loved  their  squire.  There  was  his  wife — she  was  young  again, 
as  on  her  bridal-day,  asking  him  if  he  dared  leave  her — and 
there  was  his  heir.  Maurice,  the  younger-born,  would  go  out 
with  the  Rising;  but  Rupert  must  be  left  behind. 

Sir  Jasper  winced,  as  if  in  bodily  pain.  Every  impulse  was 
bidding  him  stay.  Every  tie,  of  home  and  lands  and  tenantry, 
was  pulling  him  away  from  strict  allegiance  to  the  greater 


50  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

Cause.  He  had  but  to  bide  at  home,  to  let  the  Rising  sweep 
by  him  and  leave  him  safe  in  his  secluded  corner  of  the 
moors;  it  was  urgent  that  he  should  stay,  to  guard  his  wife 
against  the  licence  that  might  follow  civil  war;  it  was  his 
duty  to  protect  his  own. 

The  strength  of  many  yesterdays  returned  to  help  Sir  Jas- 
per. Because  he  was  turned  sixty,  a  light  thinker  might  have 
said  that  he  might  take  his  ease;  but,  because  he  was  turned 
sixty,  he  had  more  yesterdays  behind  him  than  younger  men 
— days  of  striving  toward  a  goal  as  fixed  as  the  pole-star, 
nights  of  doubt  and  disillusion  that  had  yielded  to  the  dawn 
of  each  succeeding  sunrise.  He  had  pluck  and  faith  in  God 
behind  him ;  and  his  trust  was  keen  and  bright,  like  the  sword- 
blade  that  old  Andrew  Ferrara  had  forged  in  Italy  for  Prince 
Charles  Edward. 

"  The  Prince  needs  me,"  he  muttered  stubbornly.  "  That 
should  be  praise  enough  for  any  man." 

He  rode  down  the  bridle-track  to  Windyhough;  and  the 
nearer  he  got  to  the  chimneys  that  were  smoking  gustily  in  the 
shrewd  east  wind,  the  more  he  loved  his  homestead.  It  was 
as  if  a  man,  living  in  a  green  oasis,  were  asked  to  go  out  across 
the  desert  sands,  because  a  barren,  thirsty  duty  called  him. 

Again  the  patient  yesterdays  rallied  to  his  aid.  He  shook 
himself  free  of  doubts,  as  a  dog  does  when  he  comes  out 
of  cold  waters;  and  he  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  laughed. 
"  After  all,  I  was  growing  fat  and  sleepy,"  he  thought, 
stooping  to  pat  the  tired  horse  that  carried  him.  "  One  can 
sleep  and  eat  too  much." 

He  found  Lady  Royd  in  the  hall,  waiting  for  him,  and 
a  glance  at  her  face  chilled  all  desire  to  tell  her  the  good 
Rising  news. 

"  What  is  the  trouble,  wife  ?  "  he  asked,  with  sudden  fore- 
boding. "  Is  Rupert  ill  ?  " 

She  stamped  her  foot,  and  her  face,  comely  at  usual  times, 
was  not  good  to  see.  "  Oh,  it  is  Rupert  with  you — and 
always  Rupert — till  I  lose  patience.  He  is — why,  just  the 


THE  HURRIED  DAYS  51 

scholar.  He  does  not  hunt;  he  scarce  dares  to  ride — we'll 
have  to  make  a  priest  of  him." 

"  There  are  worse  callings,"  broke  in  Sir  Jasper,  with  the 
squared  jaw  that  she  knew  by  heart,  but  would  not  under- 
stand. "  If  my  soul  were  clean  enough  for  priesthood,  I 
should  no  way  be  ashamed." 

"  Yes,  but  the  lands  ?  Will  you  not  understand  that  he 
is  the  heir — and  there  must  be  heirs  to  follow?  We  have 
but  two,  and  you're  taking  Maurice  to  this  mad  rising  that 
can  only  end  on  Tower  Hill." 

"  That  is  as  God  wills,  wife  o'  mine." 

Again  she  stamped  her  foot.  "  You're  in  league  together, 
you  and  he." 

"  We  share  the  same  Faith,"  he  put  in  dryly,  "  if  that  is  to 
be  in  league  together." 

"  Only  to-day — an  hour  before  you  came — I  found  him 
mooning  in  the  library,  when  he  should  have  been  out  of 
doors.  '  Best  join  the  priests  at  once,  and  have  done  with 
it,'  said  I.  And  '  No,'  he  answered  stubbornly,  '  I've  been 
reading  what  the  Royds  did  once.  They  fought  for  Charles 
the  First,  and  afterwards — they  died  gladly,  some  of  them. 
I  come  of  a  soldier-stock,  and  I  need  to  fight.'  The  scholar 
dreamed  of  soldiery!  I  tapped  him  on  the  cheek — and  he  a 
grown  man  of  five-and-twenty — and  " — she  halted,  some  hid- 
den instinct  shaming  her  for  the  moment — "  and  he  only 
answered  that  he  knew  the  way  of  it  all — by  books — dear 
heart,  by  books  he  knew  how  strong  men  go  to  battle ! " 

"Rupert  said  that?"  asked  Sir  Jasper  gently.  "Gad! 
I'm  proud  of  him.  He'll  come  to  soldiery  one  day." 

"  By  mooning  in  the  library — by  roaming  the  moors  at  all 
hours  of  the  day  and  night — is  that  the  way  men  learn 
to  fight?" 

Sir  Jasper  was  :cool  and  debonair  again.  "  Men  learn  to 
fight  as  the  good  God  teaches  them,  my  lady.  We  have  no 
part  in  that.  As  for  Rupert — I  tell  you  the  lad  is  staunch 
and  leal.  He  was  bred  a  Christian  gentleman,  after  all,  and 


52  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

breed  tells — it  tells  in  the  long  run,  Agnes,  though  all  the 
fools  in  .Lancashire  go  making  mouths  at  Rupert." 

He  strode  up  and  down  the  hall,  with  the  orderly  impa- 
tience that  she  knew.  And  then  he  told  the  Rising  news; 
and  she  ran  towards  him,  and  could  not  come  too  close 
into  his  arms,  and  made  confession,  girlish  in  its  simplicity, 
that  she,  who  cared  little  for  her  son,  loved  her  husband  bet- 
ter than  her  pride. 

"You'll  not  go?  It  is  a  mad  Rising — here  with  the 
Georges  safe  upon  the  throne.  You  need  not  go,  at  your 
age.  Let  younger  men  bear  the  brunt  of  it,  if  they've  a 
mind  for  forlorn  hopes." 

He  put  her  arms  away  from  him,  though  it  helped  and 
heartened  him  to  know  that,  in  some  queer  way,  she  loved 
him. 

"  At  any  age  one  serves  the  Prince,  wife.  I'm  bidden — 
that  is  all." 

Lady  Royd  glanced  keenly  at  her  husband.  She  had  been 
spoilt  and  wilful,  counting  wealth  and  ease  as  her  goal  in 
life;  but  she  was  sobered  now.  Sir  Ja,sper  had  said  so 
little ;  but  in  his  voice,  in  the  look  of  his  strong,  well-favoured 
face,  there  was  something  that  overrode  the  shams  of  this 
world.  He  was  a  simple-minded  gentleman,  prepared  for 
simple  duty;  and,  because  she  knew  that  he  was  unbreak- 
able, her  old  wil fulness  returned. 

"  For  my  sake,  stay ! "  she  pleaded.  "  You  are — my  dear, 
you  do  not  know  how  much  you  are  to  me." 

He  held  her  at  arm's  length,  looking  into  her  face.  Her 
eyes  were  pixie-like — radiant,  full  of  sudden  lights  and  fugi- 
tive, light-falling  tears.  So  had  he  seen  her,  six-and-twenty 
years  before,  when  he  brought  her  as  a  bride  to  Windyhough. 
For  the  moment  he  was  unnerved.  She  was  so  young  in  her 
blandishment,  so  swift  and  eager  a  temptation.  It  seemed 
that,  by  some  miracle,  they  two  were  lad  and  lass  again, 
needing  each  other  only,  and  seeing  the  world  as  a  vague  and 
sunlit  background  to  their  happiness. 


THE  HURRIED  DAYS  53 

"  Ah,  you'll  not  go !  "  she  said  softly.  "  I  knew  you  would 
not." 

"  Not  go  ? "  He  stood  away  from  her,  crossed  to  the  win- 
dow that  gave  him  a  sight  of  the  last  sunset-red  above  the 
heath.  "  You  are  childish,  Agnes,"  he  said  sharply. 

"  So  are  all  women,  when — when  they  care.  I  need  you 
here — need  you — and  you  will  not  understand." 

Sir  Jasper  laughed,  with  a  gentleness,  a  command  of  him- 
self, that  did  not  date  from  yesterday.  "  And  a  man,  when 
he  cares — he  cares  for  his  honour  first — because  it  is  his 
wife's.  Agnes,  you  did  not  hear  me,  surely.  I  said  that 
the  Prince  commands  me." 

"  And   7   command  you.     Choose   between   us." 

Her  tone  was  harsh.  She  had  not  known  how  frankly  and 
without  stint  she  loved  this  man.  She  was  looking  ahead, 
seeing  the  forlornness  of  the  waiting-time  while  he  was  ab- 
sent on  a  desperate  venture. 

He  came  and  patted  her  cheek,  as  if  she  were  a  baby  to 
be  soothed.  "  I  choose  both,"  he  said.  "  Honour  and  you—- 
dear heart,  I  cannot  disentangle  them." 

She  felt  dwarfed  by  the  breadth  and  simplicity  of  his  ap- 
peal. The  world  thought  her  devout,  a  leal  daughter  of 
the  Church;  but  she  had  not  caught  his  gift  of  seeing  each 
day  whole,  complete,  without  fear  or  favour  from  the  mor- 
row. And,  because  she  was  a  spoilt  child,  she  could  not 
check  her  words. 

"  You've  not  seen  the  Prince.  He's  a  name  only,  while 
I — I  am  your  wife." 

Sir  Jasper  was  tired  with  the  long  day's  hunting,  the  news 
that  had  met  him  by  the  way ;  but  his  voice  was  quiet  and 
resolute.  "  He  is  more  than  a  name,  child.  He's  my 
Prince — and  one  day,  if  I  live  to  see  it,  his  father  will  be 
crowned  in  London.  And  you'll  be  there,  and  I  shall  tell 
them  that  it  was  you,  Agnes,  who  helped  me  fasten  on  my 
sword-belt." 

And  still  she  would  not  heed.     Her  temperament  was  of 


54  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

the  kind  that  afterwards  was  to  render  the  whole  Rising 
barren.  She  had  no  patience  and  little  trust. 

"  Why  should  I  give  you  God-speed  to  Tower  Hill  ?  "  she 
snapped.  "  You  think  the  name  of  Stuart  is  one  to  con- 
jure with.  You  think  all  Lancashire  will  rise,  when  this 
wizard  Prince  brings  the  Stuart  Rose  to  them.  Trust  me 
— I  know  how  Lancashire  will  wait,  and  wait;  they  are  cau- 
tious first  and  loyal  afterwards." 

"  Lancashire  will  rise,"  broke  in  Sir  Jasper ;  "  but,  either 
way,  I  go — and  all  my  tenantry." 

"  And  your  heir  ?    He  will  go,  too,  will  he  not  ?  " 

She  did  not  know  how  deep  her  blow  struck.  He  had 
resisted  her,  her  passionate  need  of  him.  He  would  leave  her 
for  a  Rising  that  had  no  hope  of  success,  because  the  name 
of  Stuart  was  magical  to  him.  In  her  pain  and  loneliness 
she  struck  blindly. 

He  went  to  the  door,  threw  it  open,  and  stood  looking  at 
the  grey,  tranquil  hills.  There  was  the  sharp  answer  ready 
on  his  tongue.  He  checked  it.  This  was  no  time  to  yield  to 
anger;  for  the  Prince's  men,  if  they  were  to  win  home  to 
London,  had  need  of  courage  and  restraint. 

"  My  son  " — he  turned  at  last,  and  his  voice  was  low  and 
tired — "  our  son,  Agnes — he  is  not  trained  for  warfare.  I 
tell  you,  he'll  eat  his  heart  out,  waiting  here  and  knowing 
he  cannot  strike  a  blow.  His  heart  is  big  enough,  if  only 
the  body  of  him  would  give  it  room." 

She  was  desperate.  All  the  years  of  selfishness,  with  Sir 
Jasper  following  every  whim  for  love  of  her,  were  prompting 
her  to  keep  him  at  her  apron-strings.  Her  own  persuasion 
had  failed;  she  would  try  another  way,  though  it  hurt  her 
pride. 

"  He'll  eat  his  heart  out,  as  you  say.  Then  stay  for  the 
boy's  sake,"  she  put  in  hurriedly.  "  He  will  feel  the  shame 
of  being  left  behind — he  will  miss  you  at  every  turn — it  is 
cruel  to  leave  him  fatherless." 

She  had  tempted  him  in  earnest  now.     He  stood  moodily 


THE  HURRIED  DAYS  55 

at  the  door,  watching  the  hills  grow  dark  beneath  a  sky  of 
velvet  grey.  He  knew  the  peril  of  this  Rising — knew  that 
the  odds  were  heavy  against  his  safe  return — and  the  pity 
of  that  one  word  "  fatherless "  came  home  to  him.  This 
weakling  of  his  race  had  not  touched  compassion  in  the 
mother,  as  the  way  of  weaklings  is;  but  he  had  moved  his 
father  to  extreme  and  delicate  regard  for  him,  had  threaded 
the  man's  hardihood  and  courage  with  some  divine  and  silver 
streak. 

He  turned  at  last.  There  was  something  harsh,  repellent 
in  his  anger,  for  already  he  was  fighting  against  dreary 
odds. 

"  Get  to  your  bed,  wife !  Fatherless  ?  He'd  be  worse 
than  that  if  I  sat  by  the  fireside  after  the  Prince  had  bidden 
me  take  the  open.  He'd  live  to  hear  men  say  I  was  a  coward 
— he'd  live  to  wish  the  hills  would  tumble  down  and  hide 
him,  for  shame  of  his  own  father.  God  forgive  you,  Agnes, 
but  you're  possessed  of  a  devil  to-night — just  to-night,  when 
the  wives  of  other  men  are  fastening  sword-belts  on." 

It  was  the  stormy  prelude  to  a  fast  and  hurrying  week. 
Messengers  rode  in,  by  night  and  day,  with  news  from 
Scotland.  They  rode  with  hazard;  but  so  did  the  gentlemen 
of  Lancashire,  whenever  they  went  to  fair  or  market,  and 
listened  to  the  rider's  message,  and  glanced  about  to  see  if 
George's  spies  were  lingering  close  to  them. 

Men  took  hazards,  these  days,  as  unconcernedly  as  they 
swallowed  breakfast  before  getting  into  saddle.  Peril  was 
part  of  the  day's  routine,  and  custom  endeared  it  to  them, 
till  love  of  wife  and  home  grew  like  a  garden-herb,  that 
smells  the  sweetest  when  you  crush  it  down. 

Lady  Royd  watched  her  husband's  face,  and  saw  him  grow 
more  full  of  cheeriness  as  the  week  went  on.  Oliphant's 
news  had  been  true  enough,  it  seemed,  for  Scotland  had 
proved  more  than  loyal,  and  had  risen  at  the  Stuart's  call 
as  a  lass  comes  to  her  lover.  The  Highlanders  had  sunk 
their  quarrels  with  the  Lowlanders,  and  the  ragged  begin- 


56  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

ning  of  an  army  was  already  nearing  Carlisle.  Then  there 
came  a  morning  when  Sir  Jasper  rode  into  the  nearest  town 
on  market-day,  and  moved  innocent  and  farmer-like  among 
the  thick-thewed  men  who  sold  their  pigs  and  cattle,  and 
halted  now  and  then  to  snatch  news  of  the  Rising  from  some 
passer-by  who  did  not  seem,  in  garb  or  bearing,  to  be  con- 
cerned with  Royal  business;  and  he  returned  to  Windy- 
hough  with  the  air  of  one  who  has  already  come  into  his 
kingdom. 

"  They  are  at  Carlisle,  wife,"  he  said.  "  They've  taken 
the  Castle  there " 

"  It's  no  news  to  Carlisle  Castle,  that,"  she  broke  in — 
shrewishly,  because  she  loved  him  and  feared  to  let  him  go. 
"  It  stands  there  to  be  taken,  if  you've  taught  me  my  his- 
tory— first  by  the  Scots,  and  the  next  day  by  the  English. 
Carlisle  is  a  wanton,  by  your  leave,  that  welcomes  any  man's 
attack." 

He  had  come  home  to  meet  east  wind  and  littleness — the 
spoilt  woman's  littleness,  that  measures  faith  by  present  and 
immediate  gains.  He  was  chilled  for  the  moment;  but  the 
loyalty  that  had  kept  him  hale  and  merry  through  sixty 
years  was  anchored  safe. 

"  The  Prince  comes  south,  God  bless  him ! "  he  said 
gravely.  "  We  shall  go  out  at  dawn  one  of  these  near  days, 
Agnes.  We  shall  not  wait  for  his  coming — we  shall  ride 
out  to  meet  him,  and  give  him  welcome  into  loyal  Lan- 
cashire." 

She  was  not  shrewish  now.  Within  the  narrow  walls  she 
had  built  about  her  life  she  loved  him,  as  a  garden-flower 
loves  the  sun,  not  asking  more  than  ease  and  shelter.  And 
her  sun  was  telling  her  that  he  must  be  absent  for  awhile, 
leaving  her  in  the  cold,  grey  twilight  that  women  know 
when  their  men  ride  out  to  battle. 

"  You  shall  not  go,"  she  said,  between  her  tears.  "  Dear, 
the  need  I  have  of  you — the  need " 

He  stooped  suddenly  and  kissed   her  on  the  cheek.     "  I 


THE  HURRIED  DAYS  57 

should  love  you  less,  my  dear,  if  I  put  slippers  on  at  home 
and  feared  to  take  the  open." 

And  still  she  would  not  answer  him,  or  look  him  in  the 
eyes  with  the  strength  that  husbands  covet  when  they  are 
bent  on  sacrifice  and  need  a  staff  to  help  them  on  the  road. 

"  You're  not  the  lover  that  you  were — say,  more  years  ago 
than  I  remember,"  she  said  with  a  last,  soft  appeal. 

He  laughed,  and  touched  her  hand  as  a  wooer  might.  "  I 
love  you  twice  as  well,  little  wife.  You've  taught  me  how 
to  die,  if  need  be." 

She  came  through  the  door  of  the  garden  that  had  shel- 
tered her.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  met  the  open 
winds;  and  Sir  Jasper's  trust  in  her  was  not  misplaced. 

"  Is  that  the  love  you've  hidden  all  these  years  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,  my  dear.  It's  the  love  you  had  always  at  command, 
if  you  had  known  it.  Men  are  shy  of  talking  of  such  mat- 
ters." 

She  ran  to  get  his  sword,  docile  as  a  child,  and  laid  it  on 
the  table.  "  I  shall  buckle  it  on  for  you,  never  fear,"  she 
said,  with  the  light  in  her  eyes  at  last — the  light  he  had 
sought  and  hungered  for. 

"  Sweetheart,  you — you  care,  then,  after  all  ?  "  He  kissed 
her  on  the  lips  this  time.  "  We  shall  go  far  together,  you 
and  I,  in  the  Prince's  cause.  Women  sit  at  home,  and  pray — 
and  their  men  fight  the  better  for  it.  My  dear,  believe  me, 
they  fight  the  better  for  it." 

They  faced  each  other,  searching,  as  wind-driven  folk  do, 
for  the  larger  air  that  cleanses  human  troubles.  And  sud- 
denly she  understood  how  secure  was  the  bond  that  intimacy 
had  tied  about  them.  She  had  not  guessed  it  till  she  came 
from  her  sheltered  garden  and  faced  the  breezy  hills  of  Lan- 
cashire at  last. 

And  her  husband,  seeing  her  resolute,  allowed  himself  a 
moment's  sickness,  such  as  he  had  felt  not  long  ago  after 
saying  goodbye  to  Oliphant  high  up  the  moor.  He  might 


58  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

not  return.  The  odds  were  all  against  it.  He  was  bidding 
a  last  farewell,  perhaps,  to  the  ordered  life  here,  the  lover's 
zeal  which  his  wife  commanded  from  him  still — to  the  son 
•whom  he  had  watched  from  babyhood,  waiting  always,  with  a 
father's  dogged  hope,  for  signs  of  latent  strength.  In  some 
queer  way  he  thought  most  of  his  boy  just  now;  the  lad  was 
lonely,  and  needed  him. 

Then  he  crushed  the  sickness  down.  The  night's  road  was 
dark  and  troublesome;  but,  whether  he  returned  or  no,  there 
must  needs  be  a  golden  end  to  it. 

"  What  does  it  matter,  wife  ? "  he  said,  his  voice  quiver- 
ing a  little.  "A  little  loneliness — in  any  case  it  would  not 
be  for  long,  sweetheart — and  then — why,  just  that  the  Prince 
had  called  me,  and  we  had  answered,  you  and  I " 

She  swept  round  on  him  in  a  storm  of  misery  and  doubt. 
"  Oh,  Faith's  good  enough  in  time  of  Peace.  Women  cher- 
ish it  when  days  go  easily,  and  chide  their  men  for  slack- 
ness. And  the  call  comes — and  then,  God  help  us!  we  cling 
about  your  knees  while  you  are  resolute.  It  is  the  men  who 
have  true  faith — the  faith  that  matters  and  that  helps  them." 

He  took  her  face  into  his  two  hands.  She  remembered 
that  he  had  worn  just  this  look,  far  off  in  the  days  of  laven- 
der and  rosemary,  when  he  had  brought  her  home  a  bride 
to  Windyhough  and  had  kissed  her  loneliness  away. 

"What's  to  fear?  War  or  peace — what's  to  fear? 
We're  not  children,  wife  o'  mine." 

And  "  No ! "  she  said,  with  brave  submissiveness.  And 
then  again  her  face  clouded  with  woe,  and  tenderness,  and 
longing,  as  when  hill-mists  gather  round  the  sun.  "  Ah,  but 
yes !  "  she  added  petulantly.  "  We  are  like  children — like  chil- 
dren straying  in  the  dark.  You  see  the  Prince  taking  Lon- 
don, with  skirl  of  the  pipes  and  swinging  Highland  kilts. 
/  see  you  kneeling,  husband,  with  your  head  upon  the 
block." 

Sir  Jasper  laughed  quietly,  standing  to  his  full,  brave 
height.  "And  either  way  it  does  not  matter,  wife — so  long 


THE  HURRIED  DAYS  59 

as  the  Prince  has  need  of  me.    You'll  find  me  kneeling,  one 
way  or  the  other." 

From  the  shadowed  hall,  with  the  candles  flickering  in  the 
sconces,  their  son  came  out  into  the  open — their  son,  who 
could  not  go  to  war  because  he  was  untrained.  He  had  been 
listening  to  them. 

"  Father,"  he  said,  "  I  must  ride  with  you.  Indeed,  I  can- 
not stay  at  home." 

Sir  Jasper  answered  hastily,  as  men  will  when  they  stand 
in  the  thick  of  trouble.  "  What,  you  ?  You  cannot,  lad. 
Your  place  is  here,  as  I  told  you — to  guard  your  mother  and 
Windyhough." 

The  lad  winced,  and  turned  to  seek  the  shadows  again, 
after  one  long,  searching  glance  at  the  other's  unrelenting 
face.  And  Lady  Royd  forgot  the  past.  She  followed  him, 
brought  him  back  again  into  the  candlelight.  One  sharp 
word  from  the  father  had  bidden  her  protect  this  son  who 
was  bone  of  her  bone.  Rupert  looked  at  her  in  wonder. 
She  had  been  his  enemy  till  now;  yet  suddenly  she  was  his 
friend. 

He  looked  gravely  at  her — a  man  of  five-and-twenty,  who 
should  have  known  better  than  to  blurt  out  the  deeper 
thoughts  that  in  prudent  folk  lie  hidden.  "  Mother,"  he  said, 
striving  to  keep  the  listless,  care-naught  air  that  was  his 
refuge  against  the  day's  intrusions — "  mother " 

She  had  not  heard  the  word  before — not  as  it  reached  her 
now — because  she  had  not  asked  for  it.  It  was  as  if  she 
had  lived  between  four  stuffy  walls,  fearing  to  go  out  into 
the  gladness  and  the  pain  of  motherhood. 

"  Yes,  boy  ?  "  she  asked,  with  lover-like  impatience  for  the 
answer. 

"  You  are  kind  to — to  pity  me.  But  it  seems  to  make  it 
harder,"  he  said  with  extreme  simpleness.  "  I'm  no  son  to 
be  proud  of,  mother."  His  voice  was  low,  uncertain,  as  he 
looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  these  two  who  had  brought 
him  into  a  troubled  world. 


60  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

Then  he  glanced  shyly  at  his  father.  "  I  could  die,  sir, 
for  the  Prince,"  he  added,  with  a  touch  of  humour.  "  But 
they  say  I  cannot  live  for  him." 

The  wife  looked  at  the  husband.  And  pain  crossed  be- 
tween them  like  a  fire.  He  was  so  big  of  heart,  this  lad, 
and  yet  he  was  left  stranded  here  in  the  backwater  of  life. 

Sir  Jasper  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  You're  no  fool, 
Rupert,"  he  said,  fierce  in  his  desire  to  protect  the  lad  from 
his  own  shame.  "  I  give  you  the  post  of  honour,  after  all 
— to  guard  your  mother.  We  cannot  all  ride  afield,  and  I'm 
leaving  some  of  our  men  with  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  Rupert ;  "  you  leave  the  lamesters,  father — 
the  men  who  are  past  service,  whose  joints  are  crazy." 

He  was  bitter.  This  Rising  had  fired  his  chivalry,  his 
dreams  of  high  adventure,  his  race-instinct  for  a  Stuart  and 
the  Cause.  He  had  dreamed  of  it  during  these  last,  eager 
nights,  had  freed  himself  from  daytime  weakness,  and  had 
ridden  out,  a  leader,  along  the  road  that  led  through  Lan- 
cashire to  London.  And  the  end  of  it  was  this — he  was  to 
be  left  at  home,  because  straight-riding  men  were  hindered 
by  the  company  of  an  untrained  comrade. 

The  father  saw  it  all.  He  had  not  watched  this  son  of  his 
for  naught  through  five-and-twenty  years  of  hope  that  he 
would  yet  grow  strong  enough  to  prove  himself  the  fitting 
heir.  It  was  late,  and  Sir  Jasper  had  to  make  preparation 
for  a  ride  to  market  at  dawn;  but  he  found  time  to  spare 
for  Rupert's  needs. 

"  Come  with  me,  Rupert,"  he  said,  putting  an  arm  through 
his  son's.  "  It  was  always  in  my  mind  that  Windyhough 
might  be  besieged,  and  I  leave  you  here — in  command,  you 
understand." 

"  In  command  ?  "  Rupert  was  alert,  incredulous.  "  That 
was  the  way  my  dreams  went,  father." 

"  Dreams  come  true,  just  time  and  time.  You  should 
count  it  a  privilege,  my  lad,  to  stay  at  home.  It  is  easier  to 
ride  out." 


THE  HURRIED  DAYS  61 

Lady  Royd,  as  she  watched  them  go  arm-in-arm  together 
through  the  hall,  was  in  agreement  with  her  husband.  It 
was  easier  to  ride  out  than  to  sit  at  home,  as  scholars  and 
women  did,  waiting  emptily  for  news  that,  when  it  came, 
was  seldom  pleasant.  Already,  though  her  husband  had  not 
got  to  saddle,  she  was  counting  the  hazards  that  were  sure 
to  meet  him  on  the  road  to  London.  And  yet  some  sense 
of  comfort  whispered  at  her  ear.  Her  son  was  left  behind 
to  guard  her.  She  lingered  on  the  thought,  and  with  twenty 
womanish  devices  she  hedged  it  round,  until  at  last  she  half 
believed  it.  This  boy  of  hers  was  to  guard  her.  In  her  heart 
she  knew  that  the  storm  of  battle  would  break  far  away  from 
Windyhough,  that  in  the  event  of  peril  Rupert  must  prove 
a  slender  reed ;  but  she  was  yielding  to  impulse  just  now,  and 
felt  the  need  to  see  her  son  a  hero. 

Sir  Jasper,  meanwhile,  was  going  from  room  to  room  of 
the  old  house,  from  one  half -forgotten  stairway  to  another. 
He  showed  Rupert  how  each  window — old  loop-holes,  most 
of  them,  filled  in  with  glass  to  fit  modern  needs — commanded 
some  useful  outlook  on  an  enemy  attacking  Windyhough. 
He  showed  him  the  cellars,  where  the  disused  muskets  and 
the  cannon  lay,  and  the  piles  of  leaden  balls,  and  the  kegs 
of  gunpowder. 

"  You're  in  command,  remember,"  he  said  now  and  then, 
as  they  made  their  tour  of  the  defences.  "  You  must  carry 
every  detail  with  you.  You  must  be  ready." 

To  Sir  Jasper  all  this  was  a  fairy-tale  he  told — a  clumsy 
tale  enough,  but  one  designed  to  soften  the  blow  to  his  heir; 
to  Rupert  it  was  a  trumpet-note  that  roused  his  sleeping 
manhood. 

"  I  have  it  all  by  heart,  father,"  he  said  eagerly.  Then  he 
glanced  sharply  at  Sir  Jasper.  "  No  one  ever — ever  trusted 
me  till  now,"  he  said.  "  It  was  trust  I  needed,  maybe." 

Sir  Jasper  was  ashamed.  Looking  at  Rupert,  with  his 
lean  body,  the  face  that  was  lit  with  strength  and  purpose,  he 
repented  of  the  nursery-tale  he  had  told  him — the  tale  of 


62  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

leadership,  of  an  attack  upon  the  house,  of  the  part  which  one 
poor  scholar  was  asked  to  play  in  it. 

"  Get  up  to  bed,  dear  lad,"  he  said  huskily.  "  I've  told 
you  all  that  need  be.  Sleep  well,  until  you're  wanted." 

But  Rupert  could  not  sleep.  He  was  possessed  by  the 
beauty  of  this  hope  that  had  wound  itself,  a  silver  thread, 
through  the  drab  pattern  of  his  life.  He  let  his  father  go 
down  into  the  hall,  then  followed,  not  wishing  to  play  eaves- 
dropper again,  but  needing  human  comradeship. 

Lady  Royd,  weaving  dreams  of  her  own  downstairs, 
glanced  up  as  she  heard  her  husband's  step. 

"  Oh,  you  were  kind  to  the  boy,"  she  said,  comelier  since 
she  found  her  motherhood. 

He  put  her  aside.     "  I  was  not  kind,  wife.     I  lied  to  him." 

"  In  a  good  cause,  my  dear." 

"No!"  His  fierceness  shocked  her;  for  until  now  she 
had  been  unused  to  vehemence.  "  Lies  never  served  a  good 
cause  yet.  I  told  him — God  forgive  me,  Agnes! — that  he 
would  be  needed  here.  He  has  pluck,  and  this  notion  of 
leadership — it  went  to  his  head  like  wine,  and  I  felt  as  if  I'd 
offered  drink  to  a  lad  whose  head  was  too  weak  for  honest 
liquor." 

She  moved  restlessly  about  the  hall.  "  Yet  in  the  summer 
you  had  kegs  of  gunpowder  brought  in,"  she  said  by  and 
by — "  under  the  loaded  hay-wagons,  you  remember,  lest 
George's  spies  were  looking  on  ?  " 

There  would  be  little  room  for  tenderness  in  the  days  that 
were  coming,  and,  perhaps  for  that  reason,  Sir  Jasper  drew 
his  wife  toward  him  now.  He  was  thinking  of  the  hay- 
time,  of  the  last  load  brought  in  by  moonlight,  of  the  English 
strength  and  fragrance  of  this  country  life  to  which  he  was 
saying  goodbye. 

"  I  wooed  you  in  haytime,  Agnes,  and  married  you  when 
the  men  were  bending  to  their  scythes  the  next  year,  and 
we  brought  the  gunpowder  in  at  the  like  season.  We'll  take  it 
for  an  omen." 


THE  HURRIED  DAYS  63 

"  And  yet,"  she  murmured,  with  remembrance  of  her  son — 
the  son  who  was  the  firstfruit  of  their  wooing — "  you 
said  that  you  had  lied  to  Rupert  when  you  bade  him  guard 
the  house.  Why  bring  in  gunpowder,  except  to  load  your 
muskets  with?" 

He  sighed  impatiently.  This  parting  from  the  wife  and 
son  grew  drearier  the  closer  it  approached.  "  We  had  other 
plans  in  the  summer.  It  was  to  be  a  running  fight,  we 
thought,  from  Carlisle  down  through  Lancashire.  Every 
manor  was  to  be  held  as  a  halting-place  when  the  Prince's 
army  needed  rest." 

He  crossed  to  the  big  western  window  of  the  hall,  and 
stood  looking  up  at  the  moonlit,  wintry  hills.  Then  he  turned 
again,  not  guessing  that  his  son  was  standing  in  the  shadows 
close  at  his  right  hand. 

"  Other  counsels  have  prevailed,"  he  said,  with  the  snap- 
pishness  of  a  man  who  sees  big  deeds  awaiting  him  and 
doubts  his  human  strength.  "  I  think  the  Prince  did  not 
know,  Agnes,  how  slow  we  are  to  move  in  Lancashire — how 
quick  to  strike,  once  we're  sure  of  the  road  ahead.  Each 
manor  that  held  out  for  the  King — it  would  have  brought 
a  hundred  doubters  to  the  Cause;  the  army  would  have  felt 
its  way  southward,  growing  like  a  snowball  as  it  went.  They 
say  the  Prince  overruled  his  counsellors.  God  grant  that  he 
was  right ! " 

"  So  there's  to  be  no  siege  of  Windyhough  ?  "  asked  Lady 
Royd  slowly. 

"  None  that  I  can  see.  It  is  to  be  a  flying  charge  on  Lon- 
don. The  fighting  will  be  there,  or  in  the  Midlands." 

"  That  is  good  hearing,  so  far  as  anything  these  days  can 
be  called  good  hearing.  Suppose  your  lie  had  prospered, 
husband?  Suppose  Rupert  had  had  to  face  a  siege  in  earnest 
here?  Oh,  I've  been  blind,  but  now  I — I  understand  the 
shame  you  would  have  put  on  him,  when  he  was  asked  to 
hold  the  house  and  could  not." 

"  He  could !  "  snapped  Sir  Jasper.     "  I've  faith  in  the  lad, 


64  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

I  tell  you.  A  Royd  stands  facing  trouble  always  when  the 
pinch  comes." 

She  looked  at  him  wistfully,  with  a  sense  that  he  was  years 
older  than  herself  in  steadiness,  years  younger  in  his  virile 
grip  on  faith.  It  was  an  hour  when  danger  and  the  coming 
separation  made  frank  confession  easy.  "  I  share  your 
Faith,"  she  said  quietly,  "  but  I'm  not  devout  as  you  are. 
Oh,  miracles — they  happened  once,  but  not  to-day.  This  boy 
of  ours — can  you  see  him  holding  Windyhough  against 
trained  soldiery?  Can  you  hear  him  sharp  with  the  word  of 
command  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  with  the  simplicity  of  trust.  "  If  the 
need  comes,  he  will  be  a  Royd." 

"  Dear,  you  cannot  believe  it !  I,  who  long  to,  cannot. 
No  leader  ever  found  his  way — suddenly — without  prepara- 
tion— 

"  No  miracle  was  ever  wrought  in  that  way,"  he  broke  in, 
with  the  quiet  impatience  of  one  who  knows  the  road  behind, 
but  not  the  road  ahead.  "  There  are  no  sudden  happenings 
in  this  life — and  I've  trained  the  lad's  soul  to  leadership.  I 
would  God  that  I'd  not  lied  to  him  to-night — I  would  that 
the  siege  could  come  in  earnest." 

Rupert  crept  silently  away,  down  the  passage,  and  through 
the  hall,  and  out  into  the  night.  Through  all  his  troubles 
he  had  had  one  strength  to  lean  upon — his  father's  trust  and 
Comradeship.  And  now  that  was  gone.  He  had  heard  Sir 
Jasper  talk  of  the  siege  as  of  a  dream-toy  thrown  to  him  to 
play  with.  In  attack  along  the  London  road,  or  in  defence 
at  home,  he  was  untrained,  and  laughable,  and  useless. 

There  was  war  in  his  blood  as  he  paced  up  and  down  the 
courtyard.  His  one  ally  had  deserted  him,  had  shown  him 
a  tender  pity  that  was  worse  to  bear  than  ridicule.  He  stood 
alone,  terribly  alone,  in  a  world  that  had  no  need  of  him. 

The  wind  came  chill  and  fretful  from  the  moor,  blowing  a 
light  drift  of  sleet  before  it ;  and  out  of  the  lonely  land  a  sud- 
den hope  and  strength  reached  out  to  him.  It  was  in  the 


THE  HURRIED  DAYS  65 

breed  of  him,  deep  under  his  shyness  and  scholarly  aloofness, 
this  instinct  to  stand  at  his  stiffest  when  all  seemed  lost.  He 
would  stay  at  home.  He  would  forget  that  he  had  over- 
heard his  father's  confession  of  a  lie,  would  get  through  each 
day  as  it  came,  looking  always  for  an  attack  that,  by  some 
unexpected  road,  might  reach  the  gates  of  Windyhough. 

But  there  was  another  task  he  had — to  forgive  Sir  Jasper 
for  the  make-believe — and  this  proved  harder.  Forgiveness 
is  no  easy  matter  to  achieve;  it  cannot  be  feigned,  or  hur- 
ried, or  find  root  in  shallow  soil;  it  comes  by  help  of  blood 
and  tears,  wayfaring  together  through  the  dark  night  of  a 
man's  soul. 

Rupert  went  mdoors  at  last,  and  met  Sir  Jasper  at  the 
stairfoot. 

"  Why,  lad,  I  thought  you  were  in  bed  long  since."   . 

"  I  could  not  rest  indoors,  sir.     I — I  needed  room." 

"  We're  all  of  the  same  breed,"  laughed  his  father. 
"  House-walls  never  yet  helped  a  man  to  peace.  Good-night, 
my  lad — and  remember  you're  on  guard  here." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   LOYAL  MEET 

Two  days  later  Sir  Jasper  and  Maurice  sat  at  breakfast. 
There  was  a  meet  of  hounds  that  morning,  and,  because  the 
hour  was  early,  Lady  Royd  was  not  down  to  share  the  meal. 
It  was  cold  enough  after  full  sunrise,  she  was  wont  to  say, 
with  her  lazy,  laughing  drawl,  and  not  the  most  devoted  wife 
could  be  expected  to  break  her  fast  by  candlelight. 

Sir  Jasper,  for  his  part,  ate  with  appetite  this  morning. 
The  unrest  of  the  past  weeks  had  been  like  a  wind  from  the 
north  to  him,  sharpening  his  vigour,  driving  out  the  little 
weaknesses  and  doubts  bred  of  long  inaction.  And,  as  he 
ate,  old  Simon  Foster,  his  man-of-all-work,  opened  the  door 
and  put  in  the  grizzled  head  which  reminded  his  master  always 
of  a  stiff  broom  that  had  lately  swept  the  snow. 

"  Here's  Maister  Oliphant,"  said  Simon  gruffly.  "  Must 
I  let  him  in?" 

"  Indeed  you  must,"  laughed  Oliphant,  putting  him  aside 
and  stepping  into  the  room.  "  My  business  will  not  wait, 
Sir  Jasper,  though  Simon  here  is  all  for  saying  that  it  crosses 
you  to  be  disturbed  at  breakfast-time." 

The  two  men  glanced  quickly  at  each  other.  "You're 
looking  in  need  of  a  meal  yourself,  Oliphant.  Sit  down,  man, 
and  help  us  with  this  dish  of  devilled  kidneys." 

Oliphant,  long  ago,  had  learned  to  take  opportunity  as  it 
(came;  and  meals,  no  less  than  his  chances  of  passing  on  the 
messages  entrusted  to  him,  were  apt  to  prove  haphazard  and 
to  be  seized  at  once.  Old  Simon,  while  they  ate,  hovered  up 
and  down  the  room,  eager  for  the  news,  until  his  master  dis- 
missed him  with  a  curt  "  You  may  leave  us,  Simon." 

Simon  obeyed,  but  he  closed  the  door  with  needless  vio- 

66 


THE  LOYAL  MEET  67 

lence;  and  they  could  hear  him  clattering  noisily  down  the 
passage,  as  if  he  washed  his  hands  of  the  whole  Rising  busi- 
ness. 

"  You  may  leave  us,  Simon!"  he  growled.  "That's  all 
Sir  Jasper  has  to  say,  after  I'm  worn  to  skin  and  bone  in 
serving  him.  And  he  must  know  by  this  time,  surely,  that 
he  allus  gets  into  scrapes  unless  I'm  nigh-handy,  like,  to 
advise  him  what  to  do.  Eh,  well,  maisters  is  maisters,  and 
poor  serving-men  is  serving-men,  and  so  'twill  be  till  th'  end 
o'  the  chapter,  I  reckon.  But  I  wish  I  knew  what  Maister 
Oliphant  rade  hither-till  to  tell  Sir  Jasper." 

Oliphant  looked  across  at  his  host,  after  Simon's  heavy 
footfalls  told  them  he  was  out  of  earshot.  "  The  hunt  comes 
this  way,  Sir  Jasper,  with  hounds  in  full  cry.  I  see  you're 
dressed  for  the  chase." 

"  And  have  been  since — since  I  was  breeloed,  I  think. 
When,  Oliphant?  It  seems  too  good  to  be  true.  All 
Lancashire  is  asking  when,  and  I'm  tired  of  telling 
them  to  bide  until  they  hear  Tally-ho  go  sounding  up  the 
moors." 

"  You  start  at  dawn  to-morrow.  Ride  into  Langton,  and 
wait  till  you  see  the  hounds  in  full  view." 

"  And  the  scent — how  does  it  lie,  Oliphant  ?  " 

"  Keen  and  true,  sir.  I  saw  one  near  the  Throne  three  days 
ago,  and  he  said  that  he  had  never  known  a  blither  hunting- 
time." 

They  had  talked  in  guarded  terms  till  now — the  terms  of 
Jacobite  freemasonry;  but  Sir  Jasper's  heart  grew  too  full 
on  the  sudden  for  tricks  of  speech.  "  God  bless  him ! "  he 
cried,  rising  to  the  toast.  "  There'll  be  a  second  Restoration 
yet." 

Maurice,  his  face  recovered  from  traces  of  the  fight  with 
his  stubborn  brother,  had  been  abashed  a  little  by  Oliphant's 
coming,  for,  like  Rupert,  he  had  the  gift  of  hero-worship. 
But  now  he,  too,  got  to  his  feet,  and  his  face  was  full  of  boy- 
ish zeal.  "  We'll  hunt  that  fox  of  yours,  Mr.  Oliphant,"  he 


68  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

laughed — "  ay,  as  far  as  the  sea.    We'll  make  him  swim — 
over  the  water,  where  our  toasts  have  gone." 

"  He's  bred  true  to  the  old  stock,  Sir  Jasper,"  laughed 
Oliphant.  "  I  wish  every  loyalist  in  Lancashire  had  sons 
like  Maurice  here  to  bring  with  him." 

Sir  Jasper  found  no  answer.  An  odd  sadness  crossed  his 
face,  showing  lines  that  were  graven  deeper  than  Oliphant 
had  guessed.  "  Come,  we  shall  be  late  for  the  meet,"  he  said 
gruffly.  "  Oliphant,  do  you  stay  and  rest  yourself  here,  or 
will  you  ride  with  us  ?  The  meet  is  at  Easterfield  to-day." 

"  As  far  as  the  cross-roads,  then.  My  way  lies  into  Lang- 
ton." 

Oliphant's  tone  was  curt  as  his  host's,  for  he  was  puzzled 
by  this  sudden  coolness  following  his  praise  of  Maurice.  As 
they  crossed  the  courtyard  to  the  stables  he  saw  Sir  Jasper 
glance  up  at  the  front  of  the  house,  and  there,  at  an  upper 
window,  Rupert  the  heir  was  watching  stronger  men 
ride  out  to  hunt  the  fox.  He  saw  the  misery  in  the  lad's 
face,  the  stubborn  grief  in  the  father's,  and  a  new  page  was 
turned  for  him  in  that  muddled  book  of  life  which  long 
night-riding  had  taught  him  to  handle  with  tender  and  ex- 
treme care. 

At  the  cross-ways  they  parted.  All  had  been  arranged 
months  since;  the  proven  men  in  Lancashire,  as  in  other 
counties,  were  known  to  the  well-wishers  of  the  Prince. 
Each  had  his  part  allotted  to  him,  and  Sir  Jasper's  was  to 
rally  all  his  hunting  intimates.  So  far  as  preparation  went, 
this  campaign  of  the  Stuart  against  heavy  odds  had  been 
well  served.  The  bigger  work — the  glad  and  instant  wish 
of  every  King's  man  to  rally  to  the  call,  forgetting  ease  of 
body,  forgetting  wives  and  children — was  in  the  making,  and 
none  knew  yet  what  luck  would  go  with  it. 

"  At  Langton  to-morrow,"  said  Oliphant,  over-shoulder,  as 
he  reined  about. 

"Yes,  God  willing — and,  after  Langton,  such  a  fire  lit  as 
will  warm  London  with  its  flames." 


THE  LOYAL  MEET  69 

When  they  got  to  Easterfield,  Maurice  and  his  father,  the 
sun  was  shining  on  a  street  of  melting  snow,  following  a  quick 
and  rainy  thaw,  on  well-groomed  men  and  horses,  on  hounds 
eager  to  be  off  on  the  day's  business.  And,  as  luck  had  it, 
they  found  a  game  fox  that  took  them  at  a  tearing  gallop, 
five  miles  across  the  wet  and  heavy  pastures,  before  they 
met  a  check. 

The  check  lasted  beyond  the  patience  of  the  hunters,  and 
Sir  Jasper  chose  his  moment  well. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  rising  in  his  stirrups — "  gentlemen, 
the  meet  is  at  my  house  of  Windyhough  to-morrow.  Who 
rides  with  me?" 

The  field  gathered  round  him.  He  was  a  man  command- 
ing men,  and  he  compelled  attention. 

"  What  meet  ? "  asked  Squire  Demaine,  his  ruddy  face 
brick-red  with  sudden  hope. 

"  The  Loyal  Meet.     Who's  with  me,  gentlemen  ?  " 

Sir  Jasper  was  strung  to  that  pitch  of  high  endeavour 
which  sees  each  face  in  a  crowd  and  knows  what  impulse 
sways  it.  They  gathered  round  him  to  a  man;  but  as  he 
glanced  from  one  to  the  other  he  knew  that  there  were  many 
waverers.  For  loyalty,  free  and  unswerving,  sets  a  light 
about  a  man's  face  that  admits  no  counterfeit. 

Yet  the  din  was  loud  enough  to  promise  that  all  were  of  one 
mind  here.  Hounds  and  fox  and  huntsmen  were  forgotten. 
Men  waved  their  hats  and  shouted  frantically.  Nance  Demaine 
and  the  half-dozen  ladies  who  were  in  the  field  to-day  found 
little  kerchiefs  and  waved  them,  too,  and  were  shrill  and  san- 
guine in  their  cries  of  "  The  Prince,  God  bless  him ! — the 
Prince ! — the  Stuart  home  again !  " 

It  was  all  like  Bedlam,  while  the  austere  hills,  lined  here 
and  there  with  snow  that  would  not  melt,  looked  down  on 
this  warmth  of  human  enterprise.  The  horses  reared  and 
fidgeted,  dismayed  by  the  uproar.  Hounds  got  out  of  hand 
and  ran  in  and  out  between  the  plunging  hoofs,  while  the 
huntsman,  a  better  fox-hunter  than  King's  man,  swore 


70  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

roundly  and  at  large  as  he  tried  to  bring  them  out  of  this  out- 
rageous riot. 

"  Where's  Will  Underwood  ?  "  asked  a  youngster  suddenly. 
It  was  young  Hunter  of  Hunterscliff,  whose  lukewarmness 
had  angered  Nance  not  long  ago.  "  It's  the  first  meet  he's 
missed  this  winter." 

A  horseman  at  his  elbow  laughed,  the  laugh  that  men  un- 
derstood. "  He  had  business  in  the  south,  so  he  told  me 
when  I  met  him  taking  the  coach.  Wild  Will,  from  the  look 
of  his  face,  seemed  tired  of  hunting." 

"  No !  "  said  Sir  Jasper  sharply.  "  I'll  have  no  man  con- 
demned without  a  hearing.  He  lives  wide  of  here — perhaps 
this  last  news  of  the  Rising  has  not  reached  him.  Any  man 
may  be  called  away  on  sudden  business." 

"  You're  generous,  sir.  I'm  hot  for  the  King,  and  no 
other  business  in  the  world  would  tempt  me  out  of  Lanca- 
shire just  now.  Besides,  he  must  have  known." 

Nance  had  lost  her  high  spirits ;  but  she  was  glad  that  some 
one  had  spoken  on  Will  Underwood's  behalf,  for  otherwise 
she  must  have  yielded  to  the  impulse  to  defend  him. 

"  That  does  not  follow,  sir,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  punctilious 
in  defence  of  a  man  he  neither  liked  nor  trusted.  "  At  any 
rate,  it  is  no  time  for  accusation.  Mr.  Underwood,  if  I  know 
him,  will  join  us  farther  south." 

Young  Hunter,  a  wayward,  unlicked  cub,  would  not  keep 
silence.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  in  his  thin,  high-pitched  voice,  "  he'll 
join  us  as  far  south  as  London — after  he's  sure  that  a  Stuart's 
on  the  throne  again." 

An  uneasy  silence  followed.  Older  men  looked  at  older 
men,  knowing  that  they  shared  this  boy's  easy  summing-up 
of  Underwood's  motives.  And  Nance  wondered  that  this 
man,  whom  she  was  near  to  loving,  had  no  friends  here — 
no  friends  of  the  loyal  sort  who  came  out  into  the  open  and 
pledged  their  faith  in  him. 

There  was  a  game  hound  of  the  pack — a  grey  old  hound 
that,  like  the  huntsman,  was  a  keener  fox-hunter  than  loyal- 


THE  LOYAL  MEET  71 

ist;  and,  through  all  this  uproar  and  confusion,  through  the 
dismayed  silence  that  followed,  he  had  been  nosing  up  and 
down  the  pastures,  finding  a  weak  scent  here,  a  false  trail 
there.  And  now,  on  the  sudden,  he  lifted  his  grey  head,  and 
his  note  was  like  a  bugle-call.  The  younger  hounds  scam- 
pered out  from  among  the  hoofs  that  had  been  playing  dan- 
gerously near  them  and  gave  full  tongue  as  they  swung  down 
the  pastures. 

Sir  Jasper  spurred  forward.  "  Here's  an  omen,  friends," 
he  cried.  "  The  hunt  is  up  in  earnest.  We  shall  kill,  I  tell 
you !  we  shall  kill !  " 

It  was  a  run  that  afterwards,  when  the  fires  of  war  died 
down  and  all  Lancashire  was  hunting  once  again  in  peace, 
was  talked  of  beside  cottage  hearths,  on  market-days  when 
squires  and  yeomen  met  for  barter — was  talked  of  wherever 
keen,  lusty  men  foregathered  for  the  day's  business  and  for 
gossip  of  the  gallant  yesterdays. 

Sir  Jasper  led,  with  Squire  Demaine  close  at  his  heels.  It 
seemed,  indeed,  the  day  of  older  folk;  for  away  in  front  of 
them,  where  the  sterns  of  eager  hounds  waved  like  a  frantic 
sea,  it  was  Pincher — grey,  hefty,  wise  in  long  experience — 
that  kept  the  running. 

Prince  Charles  Edward  was  forgotten,  though  he  had  need 
of  these  gentlemen  on  the  morrow.  After  all,  with  slighter 
excuse,  they  might  any  one  of  them  break  their  necks  to-day 
in  pursuit  of  the  lithe  red  fox  that  showed  like  a  running 
splash  of  colour  far  ahead.  The  day  was  enough  for  them, 
with  its  rollicking  hazards,  its  sense  of  sheer  pace  and  well- 
being. 

Down  Littlemead  Ings  the  fox  led  them,  and  up  the  hill 
that  bordered  Strongstones  Coppice.  He  sought  cover  in 
the  wood,  but  Pincher,  with  a  buoyant,  eager  yell,  dislodged 
him;  and  for  seven  miles,  fair  or  foul  going,  they  followed 
that  racing  blotch  of  red.  There  were  fewer  horsemen  now, 
but  most  of  them  kept  pace,  galloping  hard  behind  Sir  Jasper 
and  the  Squire,  who  were  riding  neck  for  neck.  The  fox, 


72  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

as  it  happened,  was  in  his  own  country  again,  after  a  so- 
journ he  regretted  in  alien  pastures;  and  he  headed  straight 
for  the  barren  lands  of  rock  and  scanty  herbage  that  lay  up 
the  slopes  of  Rother  Hill.  The  going  was  steep  and  slip- 
pery, the  scent  cold,  because  snow  was  lying  on  these  upper 
lands;  and  the  fox,  who  knew  all  this  a  little  better  than 
Pincher,  plunged  through  a  snowdrift  that  hid  the  opening  of 
his  favourite  cave  and  knew  himself  secure.  They  could  dig 
him  out  from  a  burrow,  but  this  cave  was  long  and  winding, 
and  all  its  quiet  retreats  were  known  to  him. 

Pincher,  the  grey,  hefty  hound,  plunged  his  nose  into  the 
snow,  then  withdrew  it  and  began  to  whimper.  He  was 
unused  to  this  departure  from  the  usual  rules  of  fox-hunt- 
ing; the  snow  was  wet  and  chilly,  and  touched,  maybe,  some 
note  of  superstition  common  to  hounds  and  hill-bred  men. 
Superstition,  at  any  rate,  or  some  grave  feeling,  was  patent 
in  the  faces  of  the  riders.  The  huntsman,  knowing  the  wind- 
ings of  the  cave  as  well  as  Reynard,  gathered  his  pack. 

"  They'd  be  lost  for  ever  and  a  day,  Sir  Jasper,"  he  growled, 
"  if  once  they  got  into  that  cave.  I  followed  it  once  for  a 
mile  and  a  half  myself,  and  then  didn't  reach  the  end  of  it." 

Sir  Jasper  glanced  at  Squire  Demaine,  and  found  the  same 
doubt  in  his  face.  They  had  chosen  this  gallop  as  an  augury, 
and  they  had  not  killed.  It  is  slight  matters  of  this  sort  that 
are  apt  constantly  to  turn  the  balance  of  big  adventures,  and 
the  two  older  men  knew  well  enough  how  the  waverers  were 
feeling. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Sir  Jasper  sharply,  "  we're  not  like 
children.  There's  no  omen  in  all  this.  I  jested  when  I  talked 
of  omens." 

"  By  gad,  yes ! "  sputtered  the  Squire,  backing  his  friend 
with  a  bluster  that  scarcely  hid  his  own  disquiet.  "  There's 
only  one  good  omen  for  to-morrow,  friends — a  strong  body, 
a  sound  sword  arm,  and  a  leal  heart  for  the  King.  We'll 
not  go  back  to  the  nursery,  by  your  leave,  because  a  fox  skulks 
into  hiding." 


THE  LOYAL  MEET  73 

There  was  a  waving  of  three-cornered  hats  again,  a  mur- 
mur of  applause;  but  the  note  did  not  ring  true  and  merry, 
as  it  had  done  at  the  start  of  this  wild  gallop.  The  horses 
were  shivering  in  a  bitter  wind  that  had  got  up  from  behind 
the  hollows  of  the  uplands.  Grey-blue  clouds  crept  round 
about  the  sun  and  stifled  him,  and  sleet  began  to  fall.  They 
were  children  of  the  weather  to  a  man,  and  to-morrow's  ride 
for  London  and  the  Stuart  took  on  the  semblance  of  a  Lenten 
fast. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  HORSE  THIEF 

AT  Windyhough,  Rupert  had  watched  Sir  Jasper  and  his 
brother  ride  out  to  the  hunt,  had  felt  the  old  pang  of  jealousy 
and  helplessness.  They  were  so  hale  and  keen  on  the  day's 
business;  and  he  was  not  one  of  them. 

He  turned  impatiently  from  the  upper  window,  not  guess- 
ing that  his  father  had  carried  the  picture  of  his  tired  face 
with  him  to  the  meet  With  some  thought  of  getting  up  into 
the  moor,  to  still  his  restlessness,  he  went  down  the  stair  and 
out  into  the  courtyard.  Lady  Royd,  who  had  not  lain  easy 
in  her  bed  this  morning,  was  standing  there.  Some  stronger 
call  than  luxury  and  well-being  had  bidden  her  get  up  and 
steal  into  the  windy,  nipping  air,  to  watch  her  men  ride  out. 
She  was  late,  as  she  was  for  all  appointments,  and  some  bitter 
loneliness  had  taken  hold  of  her  when  she  found  them  gone. 
She  had  never  been  one  of  these  gusty,  unswerving  people 
here  in  Lancashire,  and  their  strength  was  as  foreign  to  her 
as  their  weaknesses.  Until  her  marriage  with  the  impulsive 
northern  lover  who  had  come  south  to  the  wooing  and  had 
captured  her  girl's  fancy,  she  had  lived  in  the  lowlands, 
where  breezes  played  for  frolic  only;  and  the  bleakness  of 
these  hills  had  never  oppressed  her  as  it  did  this  morning. 
She  forgot  the  swift  and  magic  beauty  that  came  with  the 
late-won  spring,  forgot  how  every  slope  and  dingle  of  this 
northern  country  wakened  under  the  sun's  touch,  how  the 
stark  and  empty  moor  grew  rich  with  colour,  how  blackbird 
and  lavrock,  plover  and  rook  and  full-throated  thrush  made 
music  wild  and  exquisite  under  the  blue,  happy  sky.  For  the 
present,  the  wind  was  nipping;  on  the  higher  hill-crests  snow 
lay  like  a  burial-shroud ;  her  husband  and  the  younger  son  she 

74 


THE  HORSE  THIEF  75 

idolised  were  riding  out  to-morrow  on  a  perilous  road  because 
they  had  listened  to  that  haunting,  unhappy  melody  which  all 
the  Stuarts  had  the  gift  of  sounding. 

Lady  Royd  could  not  see  beyond.  Her  faith  was  colder 
than  the  hills  which  frightened  her,  emptier  than  this  winter- 
time she  hated.  She  had  not  once  captured  the  quiet,  reso- 
lute note  that  sounded  through .  her  husband's  conduct  of 
affairs.  Let  the  wind  whistle  its  keenest  under  a  black  and 
sullen  sky,  Sir  Jasper  knew  that  he  was  chilled,  as  she  did; 
but  he  knew,  too,  that  summer  would  follow,  blithe  and  full 
of  hay-scents,  fuller,  riper  in  warmth  and  well-being,  because 
the  months  of  cold  had  fed  its  strength. 

She  chose  to  believe  that  he  was  playing  with  a  fine,  ro- 
mantic sense  of  drama,  in  following  the  Prince,  that  he  was 
sacrificing  Maurice  to  the  same  misplaced  zeal.  Yet  hour 
by  hour  and  day  by  day  of  their  long  companionship,  he  had 
made  it  plain,  to  a  comrade  less  unwilling,  that  he  had  fol- 
lowed a  road  marked  white  at  every  milestone  by  a  faith  that 
would  not  budge,  an  obedience  to  the  call  of  honour  that  was 
instinctive,  instant,  as  the  answer  of  a  soldier  to  his  com- 
manding officer.  If  all  went  amiss  with  this  Rising,  if  he 
gave  his  life  for  a  lost  cause,  it  did  not  matter  greatly  to  Sir 
Jasper;  for  he  was  sure  that  in  one  world  or  another,  a  little 
sooner  or  a  little  later,  he  would  see  that  Restoration  whose 
promise  shone  like  the  morning  star  above  the  staunch,  un- 
bending hills  of  Lancashire. 

"  Who  is  to  gain  by  it  all  ?  "  murmured  Lady  Royd,  shiver- 
ing as  she  drew  her  wrap  about  her.  "  When  I'm  widowed, 
and  Maurice  has  gone,  too,  to  Tower  Hill — shall  I  hate  these 
Stuart  fools  the  less?  It  matters  little  who  is  king — so 
little " 

She  heard  Rupert's  step  behind  her,  turned  and  regarded 
him  with  that  half-tolerant  disdain  which  had  stood  to  her  for 
motherhood.  Not  long  ago  she  had  felt  a  touch  of  some 
divine  compassion  for  him,  had  been  astonished  by  the  pain 
and  happiness  that  pity  teaches ;  but  the  mood  had  passed, 


76  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

and  he  stood  to  her  now  as  a  simpleton  so  exquisite  that  he  had 
not  strength  even  to  follow  the  stupid  creeds  he  cherished. 
She  was  in  no  temper  to  spare  him ;  he  was  a  welcome  butt  on 
which  to  vent  her  weariness  of  all  things  under  the  sun. 

They  looked  at  each  other,  silent,  questioning.  Big  happen- 
ings were  in  the  making.  The  very  air  of  Lancashire  these 
days  was  instinct  with  the  coming  troubles,  and  folk  were 
restless,  ill-at-ease  as  moor-birds  are  when  thunder  comes  beat- 
ing up  against  the  wind. 

"  It  is  not  my  fault,  mother,"  said  Rupert  brusquely,  as  if 
answering  some  plainly-spoken  challenge.  "  If  I  had  my 
way,  I'd  be  taking  fences,  too — but,  then,  I  never  had  my 
way." 

Lady  Royd  laughed  gently — the  frigid,  easy  laugh  that  Ru- 
pert knew  by  heart.  "  A  man''  she  said,  halting  on  the  word 
— "  a  man  makes  his  way,  if  he's  to  have  it.  The  babies  stay 
at  home,  and  blame  the  dear  God  because  He  will  not  let  them 
hunt  like  other  men." 

Rupert  took  fire  on  the  sudden,  as  he  had  done  not  long 
since  when  he  had  fought  with  his  brother  on  the  moor.  Old 
indignities  were  brought  to  a  head.  He  did  not  know  what 
he  said;  but  Lady  Royd  bent  her  head,  as  if  a  moorland 
tempest  beat  about  her.  It  seemed  as  if  the  whole  unrest,  the 
whole  passion  and  heedlessness,  of  the  Stuart  battle  against 
circumstance  had  gathered  to  a  head  in  this  wind-swept  court- 
yard of  the  old  fighting  house  of  Windyhough. 

And  the  combatants  were  a  spoilt  wife  on  one  hand,  on 
the  other  a  scholar  who  had  not  yet  found  his  road  in  life. 
The  battle  should  have  given  food  for  laughter ;  yet  the  scholar 
wore  something  of  his  father's  dignity  and  spirit,  and  the 
woman  was  slow  to  admit  a  mastery  that  pleased  and  troubled 
her. 

Again  there  was  a  silence.  The  east  wind  was  piping 
through  and  through  the  courtyard,  and  rain  was  falling ;  but 
on  the  high  moors  there  were  drifts  of  snow  that  would  not 
yield  to  the  gusty  warmth.  All  was  upset,  disordered — rain, 


THE  HORSE  THIEF  77 

and  snow,  and  wind,  were  all  at  variance,  as  if  they  shared 
the  unrest  and  the  tumult  of  the  times. 

"  You — you  hurt  me,  Rupert,"  she  said  weakly. 

"  I  had  no  right,  mother,"  he  broke  in,  contrite.  "  Of 
course  I  am  the  heir — and  I  was  never  strong,  as  you  had 
wished — and — and  I  spoke  in  heat." 

"  I  like  your  heat,  boy,"  she  said  unexpectedly.  "  Oh,  you 
were  right,  were  right !  You  never  had  a  chance." 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  arm — gently,  as  a  lover  or  a  cour- 
tier might.  "  Maurice  should  have  been  the  heir.  It  cannot 
be  helped,  mother — but  you've  been  kind  to  me  through  it  all." 

Lady  Royd  was  dismayed.  Her  husband  had  yielded  to  her 
whims;  the  folk  about  her  had  liked  her  beauty,  her  easy, 
friendly  insolence,  the  smile  which  comes  easily  to  women 
who  are  spoilt  and  have  luxury  at  command.  She  had  been 
sure  of  herself  till  now — till  now,  when  the  son  she  had  made 
light  of  was  at  pains  to  salve  her  conscience.  He  was  a  stay- 
at-home,  a  weakling.  There  was  no  glamour  attaching  to 
him,  no  riding-out  to  high  endeavour  among  the  men  who  were 
making  or  were  marring  history.  Yet  now,  to  the  mother's 
fancy,  he  was  big  of  stature. 

She  yielded  to  a  sharp,  dismaying  pity.  "  My  dear,"  she 
said,  with  a  broken  laugh,  "  you  talk  like  your  father — like 
your  father  when  I  like  him  most  and  disagree  with  his  mad 
view  of  life." 

Rupert  went  to  bed  that  night — after  his  father  and  Maurice 
had  returned  muddied  from  a  hunt  he  had  not  shared,  after 
the  supper  that  had  found  him  silent  and  without  appetite — 
with  a  sense  of  keen  and  personal  disaster  that  would  not  let 
him  sleep.  Through  all  his  dreams — the  brave,  unspoiled 
dreams  of  boyhood — he  had  seen  this  Rising  take  its  present 
shape.  His  father's  teaching,  his  stealthy  reading  in  the  li- 
brary of  books  that  could  only  better  a  sound  Stuart  faith,  had 
prepared  him  for  the  Loyal  Meet  that  was  to  gather  at 
Windyhough  with  to-morrow's  dawn.  But  in  his  dreams  he  had 
been  a  rider  among  loyal  riders,  had  struck  a  blow  here  and 


78  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

there  for  the  Cause  he  had  at  heart.  In  plain  reality,  with  the 
wind  sobbing  round  the  gables  overhead,  he  was  not  disci- 
plined enough  to  join  the  hunt.  He  was  untrained. 

Maurice  shared  his  elder  brother's  bedroom ;  and  somewhere 
in  the  dark  hours  before  the  dawn  he  heard  Rupert  start  from 
a  broken  sleep,  crying  that  the  Prince  was  in  some  danger  and 
needed  him.  Maurice  was  tired  after  the  day's  hunting,  and 
knew  that  he  must  be  up  betimes ;  and  a  man's  temper  at  such 
times  is  brittle. 

"  Get  to  sleep,  Rupert ! "  he  growled.  "  The  Prince  will  be 
none  the  better  for  your  nightmares." 

Rupert  was  silent.  He  knew  it  was  true.  No  man  would 
ever  be  the  better,  he  told  himself,  for  the  help  of  a  dreamer 
and  a  weakling.  He  heard  his  brother  turn  over,  heard  the 
heavy,  measured  breathing.  He  had  no  wish  for  sleep,  but 
lay  listening  to  the  sleet  that  was  driving  at  the  window-panes. 
It  was  bitter  cold,  and  dark  beyond  belief.  Whatever  chanced 
with  the  Prince's  march  to  London,  there  was  something  to 
chill  the  stoutest  faith  in  this  night-hour  before  the  dawn. 
Yet  the  scholar  chose  this  moment  for  a  sudden  hope,  a 
warmth  of  impulse  and  of  courage.  Down  the  sleety  wind, 
from  the  moors  he  loved,  a  trumpet-call  seemed  to  ring  sharp 
and  clear.  And  the  call  sounded  boot-and-saddle. 

He  sprang  from  bed  and  dressed  himself,  halted  to  be  sure 
that  Maurice  was  still  sound  asleep,  felt  his  way  through  the 
pitch-dark  of  the  room  until  he  reached  the  door.  Then  he 
went  down,  unbarred  the  main  door  with  gentle  haste,  and 
stood  in  the  windy  courtyard.  It  was  a  wet  night  and  a 
stormy  one  on  Windyhough  Heights.  Now  and  then  the 
moon  ran  out  between  the  grey-black,  scudding  clouds  and 
lit  a  world  made  up  of  rain  and  emptiness. 

And  Rupert  again  heard  the  clear,  urgent  call.  Slight  of 
body,  a  thing  of  small  account  set  in  the  middle  of  this  ma- 
jestic uproar  of  the  heath,  he  squared  his  shoulders,  looked 
at  the  house-front,  the  fields,  the  naked,  wind-swept  coppices, 
to  which  he  was  the  heir. 


THE  HORSE  THIEF  79 

Old  tradition,  some  instinct  fathered  by  many  generations, 
rendered  him  greater  than  himself.  "  Get  to  saddle,"  said  the 
voice  at  his  ear ;  and  he  forgot  that  the  ways  of  a  horse  were 
foreign  to  him.  He  glanced  once  again  at  the  heath,  as  if 
asking  borrowed  strength,  then  crept  like  a  thief  toward 
the  stables. 

It  was  near  dawn  now.  The  wind,  tired  out,  had  sunk  to  a 
low,  piping  breeze.  The  moon  shone  high  and  white  from  a 
sky  cleared  of  all  but  the  filmiest  clouds ;  and  over  the  eastern 
hummocks  of  the  moor  lithe,  palpitating  streaks  of  rose,  and 
grey,  and  amber  were  ushering  up  the  sun. 

All  was  uproar  in  the  stable-yard,  and  the  future  master  of 
these  grooms  and  farm-lads  waited  in  the  shadows — a  looker- 
on,  as  always.  He  saw  a  lanthorn  swinging  up  and  down  the 
yard,  confusing  still  more  the  muddled  light  of  moon  and 
dawn ;  and  then  he  heard  Giles,  his  father's  bailiff,  laugh  as  he 
led  out  Sir  Jasper's  horse,  and  listened  while  the  man  swore, 
with  many  a  rich  Lancashire  oath,  that  Rising  work  was  better 
than  keeping  books  and  harrying  farmers  when  they  would 
not  pay  their  rents.  And  still  Rupert  waited,  watching  sturdy 
yeomen  ride  in  from  Pendle  Forest,  on  nags  as  well  built  as 
themselves,  to  answer  Sir  Jasper's  rally-call. 

"  Tis  only  decent-like,  Giles,"  he  heard  one  ruddy  yeoman 
say,  "  to  ride  in  a  little  before  our  betters  need  us.  I  was  never 
one  to  be  late  at  a  hunt,  for  my  part." 

"  It  all  gangs  gradely,"  Giles  answered  jeheerily.  "  By 
dangment,  though,  the  dawn's  nearer  than  I  thought ;  and  I've 
my  own  horse  to  saddle  yet." 

Rupert  waited  with  great  patience  for  his  chance — waited 
until  Giles  came  out  again,  leading  a  thick-set  chestnut  that 
had  carried  him  on  many  a  bailiff's  errand.  And  in  the  wait- 
ing his  glow  of  courage  and  high  purpose  grew  chilled.  He 
watched  the  lanthorns  bobbing  up  and  down  the  yard,  watched 
the  dawn  sweep  bold  and  crimson  over  this  crowd  of  busy 
folk.  He  was  useless,  impotent ;  he  had  no  part  in  action,  no 
place  among  these  men,  strong  of  their  hands,  who  were 


80  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

getting  ready  for  the  battle.  Yet,  under  all  the  cold  and 
shame,  he  knew  that,  if  he  were  asked  to  die  for  the  Cause — 
asked  simply,  and  without  need  to  show  himself  a  fool  at 
horsemanship — it  would  be  an  easy  matter. 

He  looked  on,  and  he  was  lonelier  than  in  the  years  be- 
hind. Until  a  day  or  two  ago  he  had  been  sure  of  one  thing 
at  least — of  his  father's  trust  in  him ;  and  Sir  Jasper  had  killed 
that  illusion  when  he  taught  his  heir  how  Windyhough  was  to 
be  defended  against  attack  and  afterwards  confessed  that  it 
was  a  trick  to  soothe  the  lad's  vanity. 

Yet  still  he  waited,  some  stubborness  of  purpose  behind  him. 
And  by  and  by  he  saw  his  chance.  The  stable-yard  was  empty 
for  the  moment.  Sir  Jasper's  men  had  mustered  under  the 
house-front,  waiting  for  their  leader  to  come  out.  Giles  had 
left  his  own  horse  tethered  to  a  ring  outside  the  stable  door, 
while  he  led  the  master's  grey  and  Maurice's  slim,  raking 
chestnut  into  the  courtyard.  From  the  bridle-track  below 
came  the  clatter  of  hoofs,  as  Sir  Jasper's  hunting  intimates 
brought  in  their  followers  to  the  Loyal  Meet.  On  that  side 
of  the  house  all  was  noise,  confusion ;  on  this  side,  the  stable- 
yard  lay  quiet  under  the  paling  moonlight  and  the  ruddy,  nip- 
ping dawn. 

Sir  Jasper's  heir  crossed  the  yard,  as  if  he  planned  a  theft 
and  feared  surprisal.  There  had  been  horse-thieves  among  his 
kin,  doubtless,  long  ago  when  the  Royds  were  founding  a  fam- 
ily in  this  turbulent  and  lawless  county;  and  Rupert  was 
but  harking  back  to  the  times  when  necessity  was  the  day's 
gospel. 

He  unslipped  the  bridle  of  Giles's  horse,  and  let  him 
through  the  gate  that  opened  on  the  pastures  at  the  rear  of 
Windyhough.  Then  he  went  in  a  wide  circle  round  the 
house,  until  he  reached  a  wood  of  birch  and  rowan  that  stood 
just  above  the  Langton  road.  "The  wind  was  up  again,  and 
rain  with  it;  and  in  the  downpour  Rupert,  holding  the  bridle 
of  a  restive  horse,  waited  for  the  active  men  to  pass  him  by 
along  the  road  that  led  to  Prince  Charles  Edward.  He  could 


THE  HORSE  THIEF  81 

not  join  them  at  the  meet  in  the  courtyard,  but  he  would  wait 
here  till  they  passed,  he  told  himself,  would  get  to  saddle  after- 
wards and  ride  down  and  follow  them.  And  in  the  coming 
battle,  may  be,  he  would  prove  to  his  father  that  courage  was 
not  lacking,  after  all,  in  the  last  heir  of  the  Royd  men. 

The  front  of  Windyhough,  meanwhile,  was  busy  with  men 
and  horses,  with  sheep-dogs  that  had  followed  their  masters, 
unnoticed  and  unbidden,  from  the  high  farms  that  bordered 
Windyhough.  It  might  have  been  Langton  market-day,  so 
closely  and  with  such  laughing  comradeship  yeomen,  squires, 
and  hinds  rubbed  shoulders,  while  dogs  ran  in  and  out  be- 
tween their  legs  and  horses  whinnied  to  each  other.  The 
feudal  note  was  paramount.  There  was  no  distrust  here,  no 
jealousy  of  class  against  class;  the  squires  were  pledged  to  de- 
fend those  who  followed  them  with  healthy  and  implicit  con- 
fidence, their  men  were  loyal  in  obedience  that  was  neither 
blind  nor  stupid,  but  trained  by  knowledge  and  the  sense  of 
discipline,  as  a  soldier's  is.  Each  squire  was  a  kingly  father 
to  the  men  he  had  gathered  from  his  own  acres.  In  all  things, 
indeed,  this  gathering  at  Windyhough  was  moved  by  the  clan 
spirit  that  had  made  possible  the  Prince's  gathering  of  an 
army  in  Scotland — that  small,  ill-equipped  army  which  had 
already  routed  General  Cope  at  Prestonpans,  had  compelled 
Edinburgh  to  applaud  its  pluck  and  gallantry,  had  taken  Car- 
lisle Castle,  and  now  was  marching  through  a  country,  dis- 
affected for  the  most  part,  on  the  forlornest  hope  that  ever 
bade  men  leave  warm  hearths. 

Sir  Jasper,  standing  near  the  main  door  of  Windyhough, 
watched  the  little  companies  ride  in.  He  was  keen  and  buoy- 
ant, and  would  not  admit  that  he  was  troubled  because  his  own 
judgment  and  that  of  his  friends  was  justified.  He  had 
guessed  that  one  in  five  of  those  who  had  passed  their  claret 
over  the  .vater  would  prove  their  faith ;  and  he  had  calculated 
to  a  nicety.  One  whom  he  had  counted  a  certain  absentee  was 
here,  to  be  sure — young  Hunter  of  Hunterscliff,  whose  tongue 
was  more  harum-scarum  than  his  heart.  But,  against  this 


82  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

gain  of  a  sword-arm  and  a  dozen  men,  he  had  to  set  Will  Un- 
derwood's absence.  Some  easy  liking  for  Will's  horseman- 
ship, some  instinct  to  defend  him  against  the  common  distrust, 
had  prompted  him  to  an  obstinate,  half-hearted  faith  in  the 
man.  Yet  he  was  not  here,  and  Sir  Jasper  guessed  unerringly 
what  the  business  was  that  had  taken  him  wide  of  Lan- 
cashire. 

Squire  Demaine  was  the  last  to  ride  in  with  his  men.  He 
could  afford  to  be  late;  for  Pendle  Hill,  round  and  stalwart 
up  against  the  crimson,  rainy  sky,  would  as  soon  break  away 
from  its  moorings  as  Roger  Demaine  prove  truant  to  his 
faith. 

It  was  wet  and  cold,  and  the  errand  of  these  men  was  not 
one  to  promise  warmth  for  many  a  day  to  come.  Yet  they 
raised  a  cheer  when  old  Roger  pushed  his  big,  hard-bitten 
chestnut  through  the  crowd.  And  when  they  saw  that  his 
daughter  was  with  him,  riding  the  grey  mare  that  had  known 
many  a  hunting  morn,  their  cheers  grew  frantic.  For  at  these 
times  men  learn  the  way  of  their  hearts,  and  know  the  folk 
whose  presence  brings  a  sense  of  well-being. 

Sir  Jasper  had  not  got  to  saddle  yet.  He  stood  at  the  door, 
with  his  wife  and  Maurice,  greeting  all  new-comers,  and 
hoping  constantly  that  there  were  laggards  to  come  in.  He 
reached  up  a  hand  to  grasp  the  Squire's. 

"  The  muster's  small,  old  friend,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  what  else?  "  growled  Roger.  "  We  know  our  Lan- 
cashire— oh,  by  the  Heart,  we  know  it  through  and  through." 
He  glanced  round  the  courtyard,  with  the  free,  wind-trained 
eye  that  saw  each  face,  each  detail.  "  There's  few  like  to 
make  a  hard  bed  for  themselves,  Jasper.  Best  leave  our 
feather-bed  folk  at  home." 

Sir  Jasper,  with  a  twinge  of  pain  to  which  long  use  had  ac- 
customed him,  thought  of  Rupert,  his  heir.  He  glanced  aside 
from  the  trouble,  and  for  the  first  time  saw  that  Nance  was 
close  behind  her  father. 

"  Does  Nance  go  with  us  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  quick  smile. 


THE  HORSE  THIEF  83 

"  She  can  ride  as  well  as  the  best  of  us — we  know  as  much, 
but  women  are  not  soldiers  these  days,  Roger." 

Squire  Demaine  looked  round  for  a  face  he  did  not  find. 
"  No,  she  stays  here  at  Windyhough.  Where's  Rupert  ?  I 
always  trusted  that  quiet  lad." 

"  He's  gone  up  to  the  moors,  sir,  I  think,"  said  Maurice, 
with  some  impulse  to  defend  the  absent  brother.  "  He  was 
full  of  nightmares  just  before  dawn — talking  of  the  Prince, 
who  needed  him — and  he  was  gone  when  I  got  up  at  day- 
break." 

"  Well,  he'll  return,"  snapped  the  Squire ;  "  and,  though  I 
say  it,  he'll  find  a  bonnie  nestling  here  at  Windyhough. 
Nance,  tell  the  lad  that  I  trust  him.  And  now,  Jasper,  we'll 
be  late  for  the  meet  on  the  Langton  Road,  unless  we  bestir 
ourselves." 

Sir  Jasper,  under  all  his  unswerving  zeal,  grew  weak  with 
a  fine  human  tenderness.  He  turned,  caught  his  wife's  glance, 
wondered  in  some  odd,  dizzy  way  why  he  had  chosen  to  tear 
his  heart  out  by  the  roots.  And  Rupert  was  not  here ;  he  had 
longed  to  say  goodbye  to  him,  and  he  was  hiding  somewhere, 
full  of  shame  that  was  too  heavy  for  his  years — oh,  yes,  he 
knew  the  lad! 

He  passed  a  hand  across  his  eyes,  stooped  for  a  moment  and 
whispered  some  farewell  message  to  his  wife,  then  set  his  foot 
into  the  stirrup  that  Giles  was  holding  for  him.  His  face 
cleared.  He  had  chosen  the  way  of  action — and  the  road  lay 
straight  ahead. 

"  We're  ready,  gentlemen,  I  take  it?"  he  said.  "Good! 
The  Prince  might  chance  to  be  a  little  earlier  at  the  meet. 
We'd  best  be  starting." 

Nance  had  slipped  from  the  saddle,  and  stood,  with  the 
bridle  in  her  hand,  watching  the  riders  get  into  some  sem- 
blance of  a  well-drilled  company  of  horse.  At  another  time 
her  quick  eye  would  have  seen  the  humour  of  it.  Small  farm- 
ers— and  their  hinds,  on  plough-horses — were  jostling  thor- 
oughbreds. Rough  faces  that  she  knew  were  self-conscious 


84  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

of  a  new  dignity ;  rough  lips  were  muttering  broad,  lively  oaths 
as  if  still  they  were  engaged  in  persuading  their  mounts  to 
drive  a  straight  furrow. 

Yet  to  Nance  the  dignity,  the  courage,  the  overwhelming 
pity  of  it  all  were  paramount.  The  rain  and  the  ceaseless 
wind  in  the  courtyard  here — the  wintry  moors  above,  with  sleet 
half  covering  their  black  austerity — the  uneasy  whinnying  of 
horses  that  did  not  like  this  cold  snap  of  wind,  telling  of 
snow  to  come — all  made  up  the  burden  of  a  song  that  was  old 
as  Stuart  haplessness  and  chivalry. 

The  muttered  oaths,  the  restlessness,  died  down.  The  drill 
of  months  had  found  its  answer  now.  Rough  farmers,  keen- 
faced  yeomen,  squires  gently-bred,  were  an  ordered  company. 
They  were  equals  here,  met  on  a  grave  business  that  touched 
their  hearts.  And  Nance  gained  courage,  while  she  watched 
the  men  look  quietly  about  them,  as  if  they  might  not  see  the 
Lancashire  moors  again,  and  were  anxious  to  carry  a  clear 
picture  of  the  homeland  into  the  unknown.  It  seemed  that 
loyalty  so  grim,  and  so  unquestioning,  was  bound  to  have  its 
way. 

She  saw,  too,  that  Sir  Jasper  was  resolute,  with  a  cheeriness 
that  admitted  no  denial,  saw  that  her  father  carried  the  same 
easy  air.  Then,  with  a  brisk  air  of  command,  Sir  Jasper  gath- 
ered up  his  reins  and  lifted  his  hat. 

"  For  the  King,  gentlemen !  "  he  said.  "  It  is  time  we  sought 
the  Langton  Road." 

It  was  so  they  rode  out,  through  a  soaking  rain  and  a  wind 
that  nipped  to  the  bone;  and  Nance,  because  she  was  young 
and  untried  as  yet,  felt  again  the  chill  of  bitter  disappoint- 
ment. Like  Rupert,  her  childish  dreams  had  been  made  up 
of  this  Loyal  Meet  that  was  to  happen  one  day.  Year  by 
year  it  had  been  postponed.  Year  by  year  she  had  heard  her 
elders  talk  of  it,  when  listeners  were  not  about,  until  it  had 
grown  to  the  likeness  of  a  fairy-tale,  in  which  all  the  knights 
were  brave  and  blameless,  all  the  dragons  evil  and  beyond 
reach  of  pity  for  the  certain  end  awaiting  them. 


THE  HORSE  THIEF  85 

And  now  the  tale  was  coming  true,  so  far  as  the  riding  out 
went.  The  hunt  was  up ;  but  there  was  no  flashing  of  swords 
against  the  clear  sunlight  she  had  pictured,  no  ringing  cheers, 
no  sudden  music  of  the  pipes.  These  knights  of  the  fairy-tale 
had  proved  usual  men — men  with  their  sins  and  doubts  and 
personal  infirmities,  who  went  on  the  Prince's  business  as  if 
they  rode  to  kirk  in  time  of  Lent.  She  was  too  young  to  un- 
derstand that  the  faith  behind  this  rainy  enterprise  sang  swifter 
and  more  clear  than  any  music  of  the  pipes. 

She  heard  them  clatter  down  the  road.  She  was  soaked  to 
the  skin,  and  her  mare  was  fidgeting  on  the  bridle  which  she 
still  held  over-tight,  forgetting  that  she  grasped  it. 

"  You  will  come  indoors,  Nance  ?  "  said  Lady  Royd,  shiver- 
ing at  the  door.  "  They've  gone,  and  we  are  left — and  that's 
the  woman's  story  always.  Men  do  not  care  for  us,  except 
as  playthings  when  they  see  no  chance  of  shedding  blood." 

Nance  came  out  from  her  dreams.  Not  the  quiet  riding-out, 
not  the  rain  and  the  bitter  wind,  had  chilled  her  as  did  the 
knowledge  that  Will  Underwood  was  absent  from  the  meet. 
She  had  hoped,  without  confessing  it,  that  young  Hunter's 
gibe  of  yesterday  would  be  disproved,  that  Will  would  be 
there,  whatever  business  had  taken  him  abroad,  in  time  to  join 
his  fellows.  He  was  not  there;  and,  in  the  hand  that  was 
free  of  her  mare's  bridle,  she  crushed  the  kerchief  she  had 
had  in  readiness.  He  had  asked  for  it,  to  wear  when  he  rode 
out — and  he  had  not  claimed  it — and  her  pride  grew  resolute 
and  hot,  as  if  one  of  her  father's  hinds  had  laughed  at  her. 

"  You're  wet  and  shivering,  child,"  said  Lady  Royd,  her 
temper  frayed,  as  always,  when  men  were  stupid  in  their  need 
to  get  away  from  feather-beds.  "  I  tell  you,  men  are  all 
alike — they  follow  any  will-o'-the-wisp,  and  name  him  Faith. 
Faith  ?  What  has  it  done  for  you  or  me  ?  " 

Nance  quivered,  as  her  mare  did,  here  in  the  soaking  rain 
and  the  wind  that  would  not  be  quiet.  Yet  she  was  resolute, 
obedient  to  her  training.  "  Faith  ? "  she  said,  with  an  odd 
directness  and  simplicity.  "  It  will  have  to  help  us  through 


86  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

the  waiting-time.  What  else?  We  are  only  women  here, 
and  men  too  old  for  battle " 

"  You  forget  Rupert,"  broke  in  the  other,  with  the  tired 
disdain  that  Nance  hated.  The  girl  did  not  know  how  Lady 
Royd  was  suffering,  how  heart  and  strength  and  sense  of  well- 
being  had  gone  out  with  the  husband  who  was  all  in  all  to  her. 
"  Rupert — the  heir — is  here  to  guard  us,  Nance.  The  wind 
will  rave  about  the  house— dear  heart!  how  it  will  rave,  and 
cry,  and  whistle — but  Rupert  will  be  here!  He'll  quiet  our 
fears  for  us.  He  is — so  resolute,  shall  we  say? — so  stay-at- 
home.  Cannot  you  see  the  days  to  come  ?  "  she  went  on,  seek- 
ing a  weak  relief  from  pain  in  wounding  others.  "  Rupert 
will  come  down  to  us  o'  nights,  when  the  corridors  are 
draughty  with  their  ghosts,  and  will  tell  us  he's  been  reading 
books — that  we  need  fear  no  assault,  surprisal,  because  good 
King  Charles  died  for  the  true  faith."  She  drew  her  wrap 
about  her  and  shivered. 

She  was  so  dainty,  so  young  of  face,  that  her  spite  against 
the  first-born  gathered  strength  by  contrast.  And,  somehow, 
warmth  returned  to  Nance,  though  she  was  forlorn  enough, 
and  wet  to  the  skin.  "  So  he  did,"  she  answered  quickly. 
"  No  light  talk  can  alter  that  The  King  died — when  he 
might  have  bought  his  life.  He  disdained  to  save  himself." 

Lady  Royd  laughed  gently.  "  Oh,  come  indoors,  my  girl. 
You'll  find  Rupert  there — and  you  can  put  your  heads  together, 
studying  old  books." 

"  Old  books  ?  Surely  we've  seen  a  new  page  turned  to- 
day ?  These  men  who  gathered  to  the  Loyal  Meet — were  they 
fools,  or  bookish?  Did  they  show  like  men  who  were  riding 
out  for  pastime  ?  " 

"  My  dear,"  said  Lady  Royd,  with  a  tired  laugh,  "  the  Stuart 
faith  becomes  you.  I  see  what  Sir  Jasper  meant,  when  he  said 
one  day  that  you  were  beautiful,  and  I  would  have  it  that 
you  had  only  the  prettiness  of  youth.  Rupert " 

Nance  stood  at  bay,  her  head  up.  She  did  not  know  her 
heart,  or  the  reason  of  this  quiet,  courageous  fury  that  had 


THE  HORSE  THIEF  87 

settled  on  her.  "  Rupert  fought  on  the  moor — for  my  sake ; 
you  saw  the  plight  Maurice  came  home  in.  I  tell  you,  Rupert 
can  fight  like  other  men." 

"  Oh,  yes — for  books,  and  causes  dead  before  our  time." 

"  The  Cause  lives,  Lady  Royd — to  Rupert  and  myself," 
broke  in  Nance  impulsively. 

So  then  the  elder  woman  glanced  at  her  with  a  new,  mock- 
ing interest.  "  So  the  wind  sits  there,  child,  does  it?  It  is 
'  Rupert  and  I '  to-day — and  to-morrow  it  will  be  '  we ' — and 
what  will  Mr.  Underwood  think  of  the  pretty  foolery,  I 
wonder  ?  " 

The  girl  flushed.  This  tongue  of  Lady  Royd's — it  was  so 
silken,  and  yet  it  bit  like  an  unfriendly  wind.  "  Mr.  Under- 
wood's opinion  carries  little  weight  these  days,"  she  said,  gath- 
ering her  pride  together.  "  He  is  known  already  as  the  man 
who  shirked  his  first  big  fence  and  ran  away." 

"  Oh,  then,  you're  like  the  rest  of  them !  All's  hunting  here, 
it  seems — you  cannot  speak  without  some  stupid  talk  of  fox, 
or  hounds,  or  fences.  For  my  part,  I  like  Will  Underwood. 
He's  smooth  and  easy,  and  a  respite  from  the  weather." 

"  Yes.  He  is  that,"  assented  Nance,  with  something  of  the 
other's  irony. 

"  He's  a  rest,  somehow,  from  all  the  wind  and  rain  and 
downrightness  of  Lancashire.  But,  there !  We  shall  not  agree, 
Nance.  You're  too  like  your  father  and  Sir  Jasper.  Come 
indoors,  and  get  those  wet  clothes  oft.  We  shall  take  a  chill, 
the  two  of  us,  if  we  stand  here." 

Nance  shivered,  more  from  heart-chill  than  from  cold  of 
body. 

"  Yes,"  she  said — "  if  only  some  one  will  take  this  mare  of 
mine  to  stable.  She's  wet  and  lonely.  All  her  friends  have 
left  her — to  seek  the  Langton  Road." 

Again  the  older  woman  was  aware  of  a  breadth  of  sym- 
pathy, an  instinctive  care  for  their  dumb  fellows,  that  marked 
so  many  of  these  hill-folk.  It  seemed  barbarous  to  her  that  at 
a  time  like  this,  when  women's  hearts  were  breaking  for  their 


88  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

men,  Nance  should  be  thinking  of  her  mare's  comfort  and 
peace  of  mind. 

A  step  sounded  across  the  courtyard.  Both  women  glanced 
up  sharply,  and  saw  Giles,  the  bailiff,  a  ludicrous  anger  and 
worry  in  his  face. 

"  Well,  Giles  ? "  asked  his  mistress,  with  soft  impatience. 
"Are  you  a  shirker,  too?" 

"  No,  my  lady.  I  was  not  reared  that  way.  Some  cursed 
fool — asking  pardon  for  my  plain  speech — has  stolen  my 
horse.  I'll  just  have  to  o'ertake  them  on  foot,  I  reckon— 
unless " 

His  glance  rested  on  Nance's  mare,  big  and  strong  enough 
to  carry  him. 

"  But,  Giles,  we  keep  no  horse-thieves  at  Windyhough," 
said  Lady  Royd,  in  her  gentle,  purring  voice.  "  Where  did 
you  leave  him  ?  " 

"  Tethered  to  the  stable-door,  my  lady.  He  couldn't  have 
unslipped  the  bridle  without  human  hands  to  help  him.  It 
was  this  way.  I  had  to  see  Sir  Jasper  mounted,  and  Maister 
Maurice.  They're  raither  feckless-like,  unless  they've  got 
Giles  nigh  handy  to  see  that  all  goes  well.  Well,  after  they 
were  up  i'  saddle,  I  tried  to  get  through  the  swarm  o'  folk  i' 
the  courtyard,  and  a  man  on  foot  has  little  chance.  So  I  bided 
till  they  gat  away,  thinking  I'd  catch  them  up;  and  when 
they'd  ridden  a  lile  way  down  the  road,  I  ran  to  th'  stable. 
Th'  stable-door  was  there  all  right,  and  th'  ring  for  tething, 
but  blamed  if  my  fiddle-headed  horse  warn't  missing.  It  was 
that  way,  my  lady,  take  it  or  leave  it — and  maister  will  be  sadly 
needing  me." 

He  was  business-like  in  all  emergencies,  and  his  glance  wan- 
dered again,  as  if  by  chance,  from  Nance's  face  to  the  mare's 
bridle  that  she  held. 

"  There's  not  a  horse  in  Lancashire  just  the  equal  of  my 
chestnut,"  he  said  dispassionately ;  "  but  I'd  put  up  with  an- 
other, if  'twere  offered  me." 

Nance,  bred  on  the  soil,  knew  what  this  sturdy,  six-foot  fel- 


THE  HORSE  THIEF  89 

low  asked  of  her.  It  was  hard  to  give  up  the  one  solace  she 
had  brought  to  Windyhough — her  mare,  who  would  take  her 
long  scampers  up  the  pastures  and  the  moor  when  she  needed 
room  about  her. 

"  She  could  not  carry  you,  Giles,"  said  the  girl,  answering 
the  plain  meaning  behind  his  words. 

"  Ay,  blithely,  miss.  But,  then,  you  wouldn't  spare  her, 
like." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Nance  was  asked  to  give  up 
something  for  the  Cause — something  as  dear  to  her  as  hedge- 
rows, and  waving  sterns  of  hounds,  and  a  game  fox  ahead. 
Then  she  put  the  bridle  into  Giles's  hand. 

"  On  second  thoughts  " — she  halted  to  stroke  the  mare's 
neck — "  I  think,  Giles,  she'll  carry  you.  Tell  Sir  Jasper  that 
the  women,  too,  are  leal,  though  they're  compelled  to  stay  at 
home." 

Giles  wasted  little  time  in  thanks.  Business-like,  even  in 
this  matter  of  running  his  neck  into  a  halter,  he  sprang  to  the 
mare's  back.  He  would  be  sore  before  the  day  was  out,  be- 
cause the  saddle  was  wringing  wet  by  this  time;  but  he  was 
used  to  casual  hardships. 

Lady  Royd  watched  the  bailiff  ride  quickly  down  the  road, 
heard  the  last  hoof-beats  die  away.  "  You  are  odd,  you  folk 
up  here,"  she  said,  with  a  warmer  note  in  her  tired  voice. 
"  You  did  not  give  up  your  mare  lightly,  Nance — and  to  Giles, 
of  all  men.  Who  stole  his  horse,  think  you  ?  " 

Nance  answered  without  knowing  she  had  framed  the 
thought.  "  Rupert  is  missing,  too,"  she  said,  with  an  odd, 
wayward  smile.  "  I  told  you  he  had  pluck." 

Yet,  after  they  had  gone  indoors,  after  she  had  changed  her 
riding-gear,  Nance  sat  in  the  guest-chamber  upstairs,  and 
tould  think  only  of  Will  Underwood.  Her  dreams  of  him  had 
been  so  pleasant,  so  loyal ;  she  was  not  prepared  to  trample  on 
them.  She  saw  him  giving  her  a  lead  on  many  a  bygone  hunt- 
ing-day— saw  the  eager  face,  and  heard  his  low,  persuasive 
voice. 


90  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

Nance  was  steadfast,  even  to  disproven  trust.  She  caught 
hold  of  Sir  Jasper's  challenge  yesterday,  when  men  had 
doubted  Will.  He  would  join  them  on  the  southward  march. 
Surely  he  would,  knowing  how  well  she  liked  him.  And  the 
kerchief  he  had  asked  for — it  must  wait,  until  he  came  in  his 
own  time  to  claim  it. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  PRINCE  COMES  SOUTH 

RUPERT  stood  in  the  little  wood  that  bordered  the  Langton 
road,  waiting  for  Sir  Jasper's  company  of  horse  to  pass.  It 
would  have  been  chilling  work  for  hardier  folk.  The  rain 
soaked  him  to  the  skin ;  the  wind  stabbed  from  behind,  as  the 
sly  north-easter  does.  He  had  no  prospect  of  joining  his 
friends  as  yet ;  his  one  hope  was  to  follow  them,  like  a  culprit 
fearing  detection,  until  they  and  he  had  ridden  so  far  from 
Windyhough  that  they  could  not  turn  him  back  to  eat  his  heart 
out  among  the  women. 

Yet  he  was  aglow  with  a  sense  of  adventure.  He  was  look- 
ing ahead,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  to  the  open  road  that 
he  could  share  at  last  with  braver  men.  The  horse  he  had 
borrowed  from  Giles  was  tugging  at  the  bridle.  He  checked 
it  sharply,  with  a  firmness  that  surprised  the  pair  of  them.  He 
was  conscious  of  a  curious  gaiety  and  strength. 

Far  down  the  road  at  last  he  heard  the  clink  of  hoofs,  then  a 
sharp  word  of  command,  and  afterwards  the  gaining  tumult 
of  horsemen  trotting  over  sloppy  ground.  His  horse  began  to 
whinny,  to  strain  at  the  bridle,  wondering  what  the  lad  was 
at.  He  quieted  him  as  best  he  could,  and  the  Loyal  Meet  that 
swept  past  below  him  had  neither  thought  nor  hearing  for  the 
uproar  in  the  wood  above. 

Rupert  saw  his  father  and  Squire  Demaine  riding  with  set 
faces  at  the  head  of  their  motley  gathering.  Then,  after  all 
had  passed  and  the  road  seemed  clear,  there  came  again  the 
beat  of  hoofs  from  the  far  distance — the  hoofs  of  one  horse 
only,  drumming  feverishly  along  the  road.  And  soon  Giles, 
the  bailiff,  passed  him  at  a  sweltering  gallop;  and  Rupert  saw 
that  he  was  riding  Nance's  mare. 

91 


92  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

The  scholar  laughed  suddenly.  Intent  on  his  own  busi- 
ness, he  had  not  guessed  until  now  that  Giles  would  be  troubled 
when  he  found  his  fiddle-headed  horse  stolen.  He  could  pic- 
ture the  bailiff's  face,  could  hear  his  broad  and  Doric  speech, 
when  he  found  himself  without  a  mount.  It  was  astonishing 
to  Rupert  that  he  could  laugh  at  such  a  time,  for  he  was  young 
to  the  open  road,  and  had  yet  to  learn  what  a  solace  laughter 
is  to  hard-bitten  men  who  fear  to  take  big  happenings  over- 
seriously. 

He  heard  Giles  gallop  out  of  earshot.  Then  he  led  his  horse 
through  the  wood  and  down  into  the  highroad.  There  was  no 
onlooker  to  smile  at  his  clumsy  horsemanship,  and  for  that 
reason  he  mounted  lightly  and  handled  the  reins  with  easy 
firmness;  and  his  horse,  doubtful  until  now,  found  confidence 
in  this  new  rider. 

The  sun  was  well  up,  but  it  had  no  warmth.  Its  watery 
light  served  only  to  make  plainer  the  cold,  sleety  hills,  the 
drab-coloured  slush  of  the  trampled  highway.  Only  a  fool, 
surely — a  fool  with  some  instinct  for  the  forlorn  hope — could 
have  woven  romance  about  this  scene  of  desolation.  Yet 
Rupert's  courage  was  high,  his  horse  was  going  blithely  under 
him.  He  was  picturing,  the  crowd  of  wiser  men  whom  he  had 
watched  ride  by — the  gentry,  the  thick-thewed  yeomen  whose 
faces  were  known  to  him  from  childhood,  the  jolly  farmers 
who  had  taken  their  fences  on  more  cheery  hunting  days  than 
this.  Something  stirred  at  the  lad's  heart  as  he  galloped  in 
pursuit — some  reaching  back  to  the  olden  days,  some  sense  of 
forward,  eager  hope.  So  had  the  men  of  Craven,  just  over 
the  Yorkshire  border,  ridden  up  to  Flodden  generations  since 
— ridden  from  the  plough  and  hunting-field  to  a  battle  that 
gave  them  once  for  all  their  place  in  song  and  story. 

And  he,  the  Scholar,  was  part,  it  seemed,  of  this  later  riding 
out  that  promised  to  bring  new  fame  to  Lancashire.  All  was 
confused  to  him  as  he  urged  Giles's  fiddle-headed  nag  to  fresh 
endeavour.  Old  tales  of  warfare,  passed  on  from  mouth  to 


THE  PRINCE  COMES  SOUTH  93 

mouth  along  the  generations,  were  mingled  with  this  modern 
battle  that  was  in  the  making  London  way;  voices  from  the 
elder  days  stole  down  and  whispered  to  him  from  the  windy, 
driven  moors  that  had  been  his  playmates.  As  if  some  mir- 
acle had  waited  for  him  at  the  crossways  of  the  Rising,  where 
many  had  chosen  the  road  of  doubt  and  some  few  the  track 
of  faith,  Rupert  knew  himself  the  heir  at  last — the  heir  his 
father  had  needed  all  these  years. 

His  seat  in  the  saddle  was  one  that  any  knowledgable  horse- 
man might  praise.  The  bailiff's  chestnut  was  galloping  with 
a  speed  that  had  taken  fire  from  the  rider's  need  to  catch  up 
the  Loyal  Meet.  Rupert  was  so  sure  of  himself,  so  sanguine. 
He  had  let  his  friends  ride  forward  without  him  because  he 
had  not  known  how  to  tell  them  that  at  heart  he  was  no  fool ; 
and  now,  when  he  overtook  them,  they  would  understand  at 
last. 

They  pounded  over  a  straight,  level  stretch  of  road  just 
between  Conie  Cliff  Wood  and  the  little  farm  at  the  top  of 
Water  Ghyll,  and  Rupert  saw  Bailiff  Giles  half  a  mile  in  front 
of  him.  Giles  was  doing  his  best  to  ruin  Nance's  mare  for  life 
in  his  effort  to  catch  up  the  hunt ;  and  so  Rupert,  in  the  man's 
way,  must  needs  ask  more  of  his  own  horse,  too,  than  need  de- 
manded. He  would  catch  up  the  bailiff,  he  told  himself, 
would  race  past  him,  would  turn  in  saddle  with  a  careless 
shout  that  Giles  would  be  late  for  the  Meet  unless  he  stirred 
himself.  His  mood  was  the  more  boyish  because  until  he 
fought  with  his  brother  on  the  moors  a  while  since  he  had  not 
tasted  real  freedom. 

It  was  not  his  fault,  nor  his  horse's,  that  they  came  heed- 
lessly to  a  corner  of  the  road  where  it  dipped  down  a  greasy, 
curving  slope.  In  the  minds  of  both  there  was  the  need  for 
haste,  and  they  were  riding  straight,  the  two  of  them.  His 
fiddle-headed  beast  slipped  at  the  turning  of  the  corner,  reeled 
half  across  the  road  in  his  effort  to  recover,  and  threw  his 
rider.  When  Rupert  next  awoke  to  knowledge  of  what  was 


94  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

going  forward  he  found  himself  alone.  Far  down  the  road 
he  could  hear  the  rattle  of  his  horse  as  it  galloped  madly 
after  its  brethren  that  carried  Sir  Jasper's  company. 

Sir  Jasper,  meanwhile,  had  got  to  Langton  High  Street,  had 
drawn  his  men  up  on  either  side  of  the  road.  Their  horses 
were  muddied  to  the  girths.  The  riders  were  wet  to  the  skin, 
splashed  and  unheroic.  Yet  from  the  crowd  that  had  gath- 
ered from  the  rookeries  and  the  by-streets  of  the  town — a 
crowd  not  any  way  disposed  to  reverence  the  call  of  a  Stuart 
to  his  loyal  friends — a  murmur  of  applause  went  up.  They 
had  looked  for  dainty  gentlemen,  playing  at  heroics  while  the 
poor  ground  at  the  mill  named  "  daily  bread."  They  saw  in- 
stead a  company  of  horse  whose  members  were  not  insolent, 
or  gay,  or  free  from  weariness.  They  saw  working  farmers, 
known  to  them  by  sight,  who  were  not  accounted  fools  on 
market-days.  Some  glimmering  of  intelligence  came  to  these 
townsfolk  who  led  bitter  lives  among  the  by-streets.  There 
must  be  "  some  queer  mak'  o'  sense  about  it,"  they  grumbled 
one  to  another,  as  they  saw  that  the  Loyal  Meet  was  wet  to  the 
skin,  and  grave  and  resolute.  It  was  the  like  resolution — 
dumb,  and  without  help  from  loyalty  to  a  high  Cause — that 
had  kept  many  of  them  faithful  to  their  wives,  their  children, 
their  houses  in  the  back  alleys  of  Langton  Town. 

The  rain  ceased  for  a  while,  and  the  sun  came  struggling 
through  a  press  of  clouds.  And  up  through  the  middle  of  the 
street,  between  the  two  lines  of  horsemen  and  the  chattering 
crowd  behind,  a  single  figure  walked.  He  was  big  in  length 
and  beam,  and  he  moved  as  if  he  owned  the  lives  of  men ;  and 
the  shrill  wind  blew  his  cassock  round  him. 

Sir  Jasper  moved  his  horse  into  the  middle  of  the  street, 
stooped,  and  grasped  the  vicar's  hand. 

"  We're  well  met,  I  think,"  he  said.  "  What's  your  errand, 
Vicar?" 

"  Oh,  just  to  ring  the  church  bells.  My  ringer  is  a  George's 
man — so's  my  sexton ;  and  I  said  to  both  of  them,  in  a  plain 
parson's  way,  that  I'd  need  shriving  if  Langton,  one  way  or 


THE  PRINCE  COMES  SOUTH  95 

t'other,  didn't  ring  a  Stuart  through  the  town.  I  can  handle 
one  bell,  if  not  the  whole  team  of  six." 

Sir  Jasper  laughed.  So  did  his  friends.  So  did  the  rabble 
looking  on. 

"  It's  well  we're  here  to  guard  you/'  said  Sir  Jasper, 
glancing  at  the  crowd,  whose  aspect  did  not  promise  well  for 
Church  bells  and  such  temperate  plain-song. 

"  By  your  leave,  no,"  the  Vicar  answered  with  a  jolly  laugh. 
"  I  know  these  folk  o'  Langton.  They  should  know  me,  too, 
by  now,  seeing  how  often  I've  whipped  'em  from  the  pulpit — 
and  at  other  times — yes,  at  other  times,  maybe." 

The  Vicar,  grey  with  endeavour  and  constancy  to  his  trust, 
was  vastly  like  Rupert,  riding  hard  in  quest  of  a  boy's  first 
adventure.  He  stood  to  his  full  height,  and  nodded  right  and 
left  to  the  townsmen  who  were  pressing  already  between  the 
flanks  of  Stuart  horses. 

"  Men  o'  Langton,"  he  said,  his  voice  deep,  cheery,  resonant, 
"  Sir  Jasper  says  I  need  horsemen  to  guard  me  in  my  own 
town.  Give  him  your  answer." 

The  loyal  horse,  indeed,  were  anxious  for  the  Vicar's  safety, 
seeing  this  rabble  swarm  into  the  middle  of  the  High  Street, 
through  the  double  line  of  riders  that  had  kept  them  back 
till  now.  They  were  riding  forward  already,  but  the  parson 
waved  them  back. 

The  Vicar  stood  now  in  the  thick  of  a  roaring  crowd  that 
had  him  at  its  mercy.  Sir  Jasper,  who  loved  a  leal  man, 
tried  to  get  his  horse  a  little  nearer,  but  could  not  without 
riding  down  defenceless  folk;  and,  while  he  and  his  friends 
were  in  grave  anxiety  and  doubt,  a  sudden  hum  of  laughter 
came  from  the  jostling  crowd. 

"  Shoulder  him,  lads !  "  cried  one  burly  fellow. 

Five  other  stalwarts  took  up  the  cry,  and  the  Vicar,  protest- 
ing with  great  cheeriness,  was  lifted  shoulder  high.  And 
gradually  it  grew  clear  to  the  Loyal  Meet  that  the  parson,  as 
he  had  boasted,  was  safe — nay,  was  beloved — among  these 
working-folk  of  Langton. 


96  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

They  moved  up  the  street,  followed  by  the  rabble,  and  the 
two  lines  of  the  Loyal  Meet  were  facing  each  other  once  more 
across  the  emptying  roadway.  And  by  and  by,  from  the  old 
church  on  the  hill,  a  furious  peal  rang  out.  The  Vicar,  who 
was  a  keen  horseman  himself,  had  named  his  bells  "a  team 
of  six  " ;  and  never  in  its  history,  perhaps,  had  the  team  been 
driven  with  such  recklessness.  The  parson  held  one  rope — 
one  rein,  as  he  preferred  to  call  it — and  knew  how  to  handle 
it.  But  his  five  allies  had  only  goodwill  to  prompt  them  in 
their  attempt  to  ring  a  peal. 

There  was  noise  enough,  to  be  sure ;  and  across  the  uproar 
another  music  sounded — music  less  full-bodied,  but  piercing, 
urgent,  not  to  be  denied. 

Sir  Jasper  lifted  his  head,  as  a  good  hound  does  when  he 
hears  the  horn.  "  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  the  pipes,  the  blessed 
pipes !  D'ye  hear  them  ?  The  Prince  is  near." 

They  scarcely  heard  the  jangling  bells.  Keen,  swift,  tri- 
umphant, the  sweetest  music  in  the  world  came  louder  and 
louder  round  the  bend  of  Langton  Street.  The  riders  could 
not  sit  still  in  saddle,  but  were  drumming  lightly  with  their 
feet,  as  if  their  stirrups  were  a  dancing-floor.  Their  horses 
fidgeted  and  neighed. 

And  then  Prince  Charles  Edward  came  into  Langton,  and 
these  gentry  of  the  Loyal  Meet  forgot  how  desolate  and  cold 
the  dawn  had  been.  Some  of  them  had  waited  thirty  years 
for  this  one  moment;  others,  the  youngsters  and  the  middle- 
aged,  had  been  reared  on  legends  of  that  unhappy  '15  Rising 
which  had  not  chilled  the  faith  of  Lancashire.  And  all  seemed 
worth  while  now,  here  in  the  sunlit  street,  that  was  wet  and 
glistening  with  the  late  persistent  rain. 

The  Prince  rode  alone,  his  officers  a  few  yards  in  the  rear, 
and  behind  them  the  strange  army,  made  up  of  Scottish  gentry, 
of  Highlanders  in  kilts,  of  plain  Lowland  farmers  armed  with 
rusty  swords,  with  scythe-blades  fixed  on  six-foot  poles,  with 
any  weapon  that  good  luck  had  given  to  their  hands. 

It  was  not  this  motley  crew  that  Sir  Jasper  saw,  nor  any  of 


THE  PRINCE  COMES  SOUTH  97 

his  company.  It  was  not  Lord  Murray,  a  commanding  figure 
at  another  time ;  not  Lochiel,  lean  and  debonair  and  princely, 
though  both  rode  close  behind  the  Prince. 

The  Prince  himself  drew  all  men's  eyes.  His  clothes,  his 
Highland  bonnet,  had  suffered  from  the  muddy  wet ;  the  bright 
hair,  that  had  pleased  ladies  up  in  Edinburgh  not  long  ago 
when  he  danced  at  Holyrood,  was  clotted  by  the  rain.  He 
stood  plainly  on  his  record  as  a  man,  without  any  of  the 
fripperies  to  which  women  give  importance. 

And  the  record  was  graven  on  his  tired,  eager  face.  Forced 
marches  had  told  on  him.  His  sleepless  care  for  the  least 
among  his  followers  had  told  on  him.  He  knew  that  Marshal 
Wade  was  hurrying  from  Northumberland  to  overtake  him, 
that  he  was  riding  through  a  country  worse  than  hostile — a 
country  indifferent  for  the  most  part,  whose  men  were  reck- 
oning up  the  chances  either  way,  and  choosing  as  prudence, 
not  the  heart,  dictated.  Yet  behind  him  was  some  unswerv- 
ing purpose;  and,  because  he  had  no  doubt  of  his  own  faith, 
he  seemed  to  bring  a  light  from  the  farther  hills  into  this 
muddy  street  of  Langton. 

He  drew  rein,  and  those  behind  him  pulled  up  sharply. 
The  pipes  ceased  playing,  and  it  seemed  as  if  a  healthy,  nip- 
ping wind  had  ceased  to  blow  from  these  sleet-topped  hills  of 
Lancashire.  The  Loyal  Meet  rose  in  their  stirrups,  and  their 
uproar  drowned  the  Vicar's  bells.  They  were  men  applaud- 
ing a  stronger  man,  and  the  pipes  themselves  could  find  no 
better  music. 

Sir  Jasper  rode  forward  with  bared  head,  and  the  Prince, 
doffing  his  bonnet  in  return,  reached  out  a  capable,  firm  hand. 

"  Leal  and  punctual,  sir.     I  give  you  greeting,"  he  said. 

And  the  tears,  do  as  he  would,  were  in  Sir  Jasper's  eyes. 
This  man  with  the  fair,  disordered  hair  and  the  face  that 
laughed  its  weariness  away,  was  kingly,  resolute,  instinct  with 
the  larger  air  that  comes  of  long  apprenticeship  to  royalty.  He 
and  the  Loyal  Meet  and  all  the  ragged  army  might  be  on 
their  way  to  execution  before  the  week  was  out ;  but  the  Prince 


98  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

was  following  this  day's  business  without  fear  of  the  morrow, 
as  creed  and  training  taught  him. 

"  All  Langton  gives  your  Highness  greeting,"  answered  Sir 
Jasper,  faltering  a  little  because  his  feelings  were  so  stirred. 
"  Our  bells  are  ringing  you  into  your  kingdom." 

The  Prince  glanced  keenly  at  him,  at  the  faces  of  the 
Loyal  Meet.  He  was  quick  of  intuition,  and  saw,  for  the  first 
time  since  crossing  the  Border,  that  light  of  zeal,  of  courage  to 
the  death,  which  he  had  hoped  to  find  in  England. 

"  We're  something  wet  and  hungry,"  he  said,  with  the  quiet 
laugh  that  had  less  mirth  than  sadness  in  it.  "  You  hearten 
us,  I  think.  My  father,  as  I  was  setting  sail,  bade  me  re- 
member that  Lancashire  was  always  the  county  of  fair  women 
and  clean  faith." 

Lord  Murray  was  tired  and  wet,  like  the  rest  of  the  army ; 
and,  to  add  to  his  evil  plight,  he  was  consumed  by  the  jealousy 
and  self-importance  that  were  his  besetting  luxuries.  "  The 
church  bells,  your  Highness,"  he  said,  glancing  up  the  street — 
"  I  trust  it's  no  ill  omen  that  they  ring  so  desperately  out  of 
tune." 

Sir  Jasper  saw  the  Prince  move  impatiently  in  saddle,  saw 
him  struggle  with  some  irritation  that  was  not  of  yesterday. 
And  he  felt,  rather  than  framed  the  clear  thought,  that  there 
were  hot-and-cold  folk  among  the  Scots,  as  here  in  Lancashire. 

Then  the  Prince's  face  cleared.  "  My  lord  Murray,"  he  said 
suavely,  "  all  bells  ring  in  tune  when  loyal  hands  are  at  the 
ropes.  Your  ear,  I  think,  is  not  trained  to  harmony.  And 
now,  gentlemen,  what  food  is  in  your  town  ?  Enough  to  give 
a  mouthful  to  us  all?  Good!  We  can  spare  an  hour  in 
Langton,  and  after  that  we  must  be  jogging  forward." 

The  hour  was  one  of  surprise  to  Sir  Jasper  and  his  friends. 
Here  was  an  army  strong  enough  to  raid  the  town,  to  break 
into  the  taverns,  to  commit  licence  and  excess ;  yet  there  was 
no  licence,  nor  thought  of  it.  A  Stuart,  his  fair  hair  mud- 
died and  unkempt,  had  charge  of  this  march  south ;  and  his  will 
was  paramount,  because  his  army  loved  him.  No  fear,  no 


THE  PRINCE  COMES  SOUTH  99 

usual  soldier's  obedience  to  discipline,  could  have  hindered 
these  Scots  from  rapine  when  they  found  the  town's  resources 
scanty  for  their  hunger ;  but  the  fearlessness,  the  comradeship 
of  their  leader  had  put  honour,  sharp  as  a  sword,  between  temp- 
tation and  themselves. 

"  We  must  foot  our  bill  here,  Sir  Jasper,"  said  the  Prince 
as  they  were  preparing  to  ride  out  again. 

"  Oh,  that  can  wait " 

"  No,  by  your  leave !  Theft  is  the  trade  of  men  who  steal 
thrones.  I  will  not  have  it  said  that  any  town  in  England 
was  poorer  because  a  Stuart  came  that  way.  Lochiel,  you 
carry  our  royal  purse,"  he  broke  off,  with  a  quick,  impulsive 
laugh.  "  Peep  into  it  and  see  how  much  is  left." 

"  Enough  to  pay  our  score,  your  Highness." 

"  Then  we're  rich,  Lochiel !  We  may  be  poor  to-morrow, 
but  to-day  we're  rich  enough  to  pay  our  debts." 

A  half -hour  later  they  rode  out  into  the  wintry,  ill-found 
roads,  into  the  open  country,  wet  and  desolate,  that  was 
guarded  by  sleet-covered  uplands.  And  Sir  Jasper,  who  had 
the  countryman's  superstitious  outlook  on  the  weather,  re- 
membered Lord  Murray,  his  cold,  easy  smile,  as  he  said  that 
the  Langton  bells  were  ringing  out  of  tune. 

A  mile  south  from  Langton,  as  Giles,  the  bailiff  at  Windy- 
hough,  was  riding  not  far  behind  the  gentry — having  at  heart 
the  need  to  keep  his  master  well  in  sight — a  fiddle-headed  horse 
came  blundering  down  the  road.  The  beast  was  creamed  with 
foam,  and  he  scattered  the  footmen  right  and  left  as  he  made 
forward.  Only  when  he  reached  Giles's  side  he  halted,  stood 
shivering  with  the  recoil  from  his  own  wild  gallop,  and  pushed 
his  nose  up  against  the  bailiff's  bridle-hand.  And  Giles,  with 
scant  respect  for  the  mare  that  had  carried  him  so  far,  slipped 
from  the  saddle,  and  fussed  about  the  truant  as  if  he  were  a 
prodigal  returned.  Giles  did  not  heed  that  he  was  holding  up 
all  the  men  behind,  that  the  gentlemen  in  front  had  drawn 
rein,  aware  of  some  disturbance  in  the  rear,  and  that  the  Prince 
himself  was  asking  what  the  trouble  was. 


100  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  Where  hast  been,  old  lad?  I  thought  thee  lost,"  the  bail- 
iff was  muttering,  with  all  a  countryman's  disregard  of  bigger 
issues  when  his  heart  was  touched.  And  the  horse  could  not 
tell  him  that,  after  throwing  Rupert,  he  had  lost  sight  of 
the  master  he  pursued  and  had  wasted  time  in  seeking  him 
down  casual  by-roads.  "  Ye've  had  an  ill  rider,  by  the  look  o' 
thee.  Ye  threw  him,  likely?  Well,  serve  him  right — serve 
him  varry  right." 

Giles,  with  a  slowness  that  suggested  he  had  all  the  time  in 
the  world  to  spare,  got  to  the  back  of  the  fiddle-headed  chest- 
nut, and  felt  at  home  again. 

"What  mun  I  do  wi'  this  lile  nag?"  he  asked  dispassion- 
ately, still  holding  the  reins  of  Nance's  borrowed  mare. 

Sir  Jasper,  seeing  that  his  bailiff  was  the  cause  of  this  un- 
expected check,  could  not  keep  back  his  laughter. 

"  What  is  the  pleasantry?  "  asked  the  Prince.  "  Tell  it  me. 
I  think  we  need  a  jest  or  two,  if  we're  to  get  safely  over  these 
evil  roads  of  yours." 

"  Oh,  it  is  naught,  your  Highness — naught  at  all,  unless  you 
know  Giles  as  I  do.  He  thinks  more  of  that  fiddle-headed 
horse  of  his  than  of  the  pick  amongst  our  Lancashire  hunters 
— and  he's  holding  up  our  whole  advance." 

"  What  mun  I  do  wi'  the  mare  ?  "  repeated  Giles,  looking 
round  him  with  a  large  impassiveness.  "  I  can't  take  a  led 
mare  to  Lunnon  and  do  my  share  o'  fighting  by  the  way.  It 
stands  to  reason  I  mun  have  one  hand  free." 

The  Prince,  whose  instinct  for  the  humour  of  the  road  had 
put  heart  into  his  army  since  the  forced  march  began,  looked 
quietly  for  a  moment  at  Giles's  face.  Its  simplicity,  masking 
a  courage  hard  as  bog-oak,  appealed  to  him.  "  By  your 
leave,  Sir  Jasper,"  he  said,  "  my  horse  will  scarcely  last  the 
day  out — these  roads  have  punished  him.  I  shall  be  glad  of 
the  mare,  if  you  will  lend  her  to  me." 

When  the  march  was  moving  forward  again,  the  Prince  in 
the  grey  mare's  saddle,  Lord  Murray  turned  to  an  intimate 
who  rode  beside  him.  "  His  Highness  forgets  old  saws,"  he 


THE  PRINCE  COMES  SOUTH  101 

murmured,  with  the  insolent  assurance  that  attaches  to  the 
narrow-minded  " '  Never  change  horses  when  crossing  a 
stream' — surely  all  prudent  Scotsmen  know  the  superstition." 

But  Sir  Jasper,  riding  close  beside  the  Prince,  did  not  hear 
him.  His  heart,  in  its  own  way,  was  simple  as  Giles's,  and  he 
was  full  of  pride.  "  I  wish  my  god-daughter  could  know,"  he 
said. 

"Your  god-daughter?"  echoed  the  other. 

"  Yes — Nance  Demaine.  It  is  her  mare  you've  borrowed, 
sir — and  I  should  know,  seeing  I  gave  it  her — though  for  the 
life  of  me  I  can't  guess  how  she  chanced  to  join  the  Rising." 

The  Prince  smiled  as  his  glance  met  Sir  Jasper's.  "  There's 
no  chance  about  this  Rising,"  he  said  pleasantly,  as  if  he 
talked  of  the  weather  or  the  crops.  "  We're  going  to  the 
Throne,  my  friend,  or  to  the  death ;  but,  either  way,  there's  no 
chance  about  it — and  no  regrets,  I  think." 

Sir  Jasper  felt  again  that  sharp,  insistent  pity  which  had 
come  to  him  at  sight  of  the  yellow-haired  laddie  who  had  left 
women's  hearts  aching  up  across  the  border.  In  this  wild 
campaign  it  seemed  that  he  had  met  a  friend.  And  he  spoke, 
as  comrades  do,  disdaining  ceremony. 

"  That  is  the  faith  I  hold,"  he  said,  with  an  odd  gentleness 
that  seemed  to  have  the  strength  of  the  moors  behind  it. 
"  Comrades  are  few  on  the  road  o'  life,  your  Highness." 

The  Prince  glanced  at.  him,  as  he  had  glanced  at  Giles  not 
long  ago — shrewdly,  with  mother-wit  and  understanding. 
"  They're  few,"  he  said — "  and  priceless.  I  would  God,  sir, 
that  you'd  infect  my  lord  Murray  with  something  of  your 
likeable,  warm  spirit." 

And  Sir  Jasper  sighed,  as  he  looked  far  down  the  road  to 
London,  and  reckoned  up  the  leagues  of  hardship  they  must 
traverse.  Their  task  was  perilous  enough  for  men  united  in 
common  zeal ;  dissension  from  within,  of  which  he  had  al- 
ready heard  more  hints  than  one,  was  a  more  dangerous  enemy 
than  Marshal  Wade  and  all  his  army  of  pursuit. 

Yet  Sir  Jasper  had  relief  in  action,  in  the  need  to  meet 


102  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

every  workaday  happening  of  the  march.  With  his  son, 
thrown  on  the  Langton  Road,  and  listening  to  the  hoof-beats 
of  the  runaway  horse  as  he  went  to  join  the  Rising,  the  case 
was  otherwise.  His  one  comrade  had  deserted  him.  He  was 
here  on  the  empty  road,  with  failure  for  his  sole  companion. 
His  first  impulse  was  the  horse's — to  run  fast  and  hard,  in 
the  hope  of  overtaking  his  own  kind.  He  ran  forward  dizzily, 
tripped  over  a  stone  that  some  wagoner  had  used  to  check  his 
wheel  while  he  rested  his  team,  got  up  again,  and  felt  a  sharp, 
throbbing  pain  in  his  right  ankle.  He  tried  to  plod  on,  for  all 
that,  his  face  set  London  way — failed,  and  sat  down  by  the 
wet  roadside.  And  the  wheels  of  circumstance  passed  over 
him,  numbing  his  faith  in  God. 

They  all  but  crushed  him.  He  had  dreamed  of  Prince 
Charles  Edward ;  had  learned  at  last  to  sit  a  horse,  because  he 
needed  to  follow  where  high  enterprise  was  in  the  doing ;  had 
known  the  luxury  of  a  gallop  in  pursuit  of  men  who  had 
thought  him  short  of  initiative. 

And  now  he  was  the  Scholar  again.  His  horse  had  failed 
him.  His  own  feet  had  played  him  false.  He  sat  there,  wet 
and  homeless,  and  from  the  cloudy  hills  a  smooth,  contemptuous 
voice  came  whispering  at  his  ear.  Best  be  done  with  a  life 
that  had  served  him  ill.  He  was  a  hindrance  to  himself,  to 
his  friends.  Best  creep  down  to  the  pool  at  the  road-foot ;  he 
had  bathed  there  often  in  summer  and  knew  its  depth.  Best 
end  it  all — the  shame,  the  laughter  of  strong  men,  the  con- 
stant misadventure  that  met  him  by  the  way.  He  was  weak 
and  accursed.  None  would  miss  him  if  he  went  to  sleep. 

"  No,"  he  said  deliberately,  as  if  answering  an  enemy  in 
human  shape,  "  a  Royd  could  not  do  it." 

Sir  Jasper's  view  of  his  first-born  was  finding  confirmation. 
The  soul  of  the  lad  had  been  tempered  to  a  nicety,  and  the 
bodily  pain  scarce  troubled  him,  as  he  set  his  face  away  from 
London  and  the  Prince,  and  limped  toward  home.  Now  and 
then  he  was  forced  to  rest,  because  sickness  would  not  let  him 
see  the  road  ahead ;  but  always  he  got  up  again.  Self -blame 


THE  PRINCE  COMES  SOUTH  103 

had  grown  to  be  a  mischievous  habit  with  him,  and  he  was 
ashamed  now  that  he  had  deserted  his  allotted  post.  True,  his 
father,  in  bidding  him  guard  Windyhough,  had  practised  a 
tender  fraud  on  him ;  but  he  had  given  his  word,  and  had  been 
false  to  it  when  the  first  haphazard  temptation  met  him  by  the 
way.  It  had  been  so  easy  to  steal  Giles's  horse,  so  easy  to 
scamper  off  along  the  road  of  glamour,  so  bitter-hard  to  stay 
among  the  women. 

The  lad  was  over-strained  and  heartsick,  ready  to  make 
molehills  into  mountains ;  yet  his  shame  was  bottomed  on 
sound  instinct.  He  came  of  a  soldier-stock,  and  in  the  tissues 
of  him  was  interwoven  this  contempt  for  the  sentry  who  for- 
sook his  post.  No  danger  threatened  Windyhough.  He  was 
returning  to  a  duty  which,  in  itself,  was  idle;  but  he  had 
pledged  his  word. 

He  struggled  forward.  The  road  to  London  was  not  for 
him;  but  at  least  he  could  keep  faith  with  the  father  who 
was  riding  now,  no  doubt,  beside  the  Prince. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   HEIR   RETURNS 

AT  Windyhough,  Martha  the  dairymaid  was  restless,  like  all 
the  women  left  about  the  house.  She  could  not  settle  to  her 
work,  though  it  was  churning-day,  and  good  cream  was  likely 
to  be  wasted.  Martha  at  five-and-thirty,  had  not  found  a 
mate,  yet  she  would  have  made  a  good  wife  to  any  man; 
strong,  supple,  with  wind  and  roses  in  her  cheeks,  she  was  born 
to  matronhood;  though,  by  some  blindness  that  had  hindered 
the  farmer-folk  about  her  when  she  crossed  their  path,  she 
had  not  found  her  road  in  life.  And,  in  her  quiet,  practical 
way,  she  knew  that  the  shadows  were  beginning  to  lengthen 
down  her  road,  that  she  might  very  well  go  on  dairying,  eat- 
ing, sleeping,  till  they  buried  her  in  the  churchyard  of  St. 
John's — no  more,  no  less. 

The  prospect  had  never  shown  so  cheerless  as  it  did  just 
now.  The  men,  as  their  habit  was,  had  all  the  luck ;  they  had 
gone  off  on  horseback,  pretending  that  some  cause  or  other 
took  them  into  open  country.  For  her  part,  she  was  tired  of 
being  left  behind. 

Lady  Royd  was  indoors.  The  housekeeper  was  not  about 
to  keep  the  maids  attentive  to  routine.  All  was  silent  and 
lack-lustre;  and  Martha  went  down  the  road  till  she  reached 
the  gate  at  its  foot — the  gate  that  stood  open  after  letting  the 
Loyal  Meet  ride  through. 

"  It's  queer  and  lonesome,  when  all's  said,"  she  thought, 
swinging  gently  on  the  gate.  "  Men  are  bothersome  cattle- 
full  o'  tempers  and  contrariness — but,  dear  heart,  I  miss  their 
foolishness." 

She  thought  the  matter  out  for  lack  of  better  occupation, 
but  came  to  no  conclusion.  In  front  of  her,  as  she  sat  on  the 

104 


THE  HEIR  RETURNS  105 

top  bar  of  the  gate,  she  could  see  the  muddied  hoof-tracks  that 
marked  the  riding-out.  Her  own  father,  her  two  brothers, 
were  among  Sir  Jasper's  company;  they  were  thrifty,  com- 
mon-sense folk,  like  herself,  and  she  wondered  if  there  was 
something  practical,  after  all,  in  this  business  that  had  left 
Windyhough  so  empty  and  so  silent. 

A  man's  figure  came  hobbling  up  the  road — a  broad,  well- 
timbered  figure  enough,  but  bent  about  the  legs  and  shoulders. 
It  was  Simon  Foster,  coming  in  tired  out  from  roaming  up 
and  down  the  pastures.  Though  scarce  turned  fifty,  he  had 
been  out  with  the  '15  Rising,  thirty  years  ago ;  but  rheumatism 
had  rusted  his  joints  before  their  time,  and  to-day,  because  he 
was  not  fit  to  ride  with  haler  men,  he  had  kept  away  from  the 
Meet  at  Windyhough,  for  he  dared  not  trust  himself  to  stand 
an  onlooker  at  this  new  Rising. 

Martha  got  down  from  the  gate,  and  opened  it  with  a  mock 
curtsey.  "  I'm  pleased  to  see  a  man,  Simon,"  she  said,  moved 
by  some  wintry  coquetry.  "  I  began  to  fancy,  like,  we  were 
all  women  here  at  Windyhough." 

"  So  we  are,"  he  growled — "  but  I'd  set  ye  in  your  places, 
that  I  would,  if  nobbut  I  could  oil  my  joints." 

"  You've  come  home  in  a  nice  temper,  Simon." 

"  Ay,  lass,  and  I'll  keep  it,  till  I  know  whether  Sir  Jasper 
has  set  a  crown  on  the  right  head.  It  isn't  easy,  biding  here 
wi'  Lancashire  weather " 

"  And  Lancashire  witches,"  put  in  Martha,  with  sly  provoca- 
tion. 

Simon  was  tired,  and  had  nothing  especial  to  do;  so  he 
stayed  awhile,  telling  himself  that  a  maid's  blandishments, 
though  daft  and  idle,  were  one  way  of  passing  the  time.  "  Oh, 
ay,  you're  snod  enough,  Martha,"  he  said,  rubbing  his  lean 
chin.  "  I've  seen  few  in  my  time  to  better  ye." 

"  Now,  Simon !  And  they  say  your  tongue  is  rough  as  an 
old  file.  For  my  part,  I  allus  knew  ye  could  be  kind  and 
easy,  if  ye'd  a  mind  to." 

"  I  war  a  bit  of  a  devil  once,  may  be,"  he  admitted,  with  a 


106  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

slow,  pleasant  laugh,  as  if  he  praised  himself  unduly  for  past 
escapades.  "  Ay,  a  bit  of  a  devil,  Martha.  I'll  own  to  it. 
But  rheumatiz  has  taught  me  sense  since  them  days." 

"  Sense  is  as  you  take  it,  Simon.  Ye  might  shoot  wider  o' 
the  mark  than  to  peep  at  a  lass's  een,  just  whiles,  like." 

Simon  Foster,  feeling  that  their  talk  grew  warmer  than 
mere  pleasantry  demanded,  glanced  away  from  the  topic.  "  I 
saw  summat  on  my  way  down  fro'  the  moor,"  he  said,  dry  and 
matter-of-fact  once  more.  "  There's  no  accounting  for  it,  but 
I  saw  it  with  my  two  eyes,  and  I'm  puzzled.  You  wouldn't 
call  me  less  than  sober,  Martha  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  put  in  dryly.  "  Sobriety  was  allus  a  little  bit  of 
a  failing  wi'  ye,  Simon.  There's  times  to  be  sober,  I  allus 
did  say — and  times  to  be  playful,  as  the  kitten  said  to  the 
tabby-cat." 

"  Well,  I  happened  to  look  into  th'  sky,  just  as  I'd  getten 
past  Timothy  Wantless's  barn,  and  I  saw  summat,"  went  on 
Simon  stolidly. 

"  So  ye  went  star-gazing  ?  Shame  on  ye !  Only  lads  i' 
their  courting  time  go  star-gazing." 

"  Maybe.  But  it  was  daylight,  as  it  happened,  and  I  wasn't 
thinking  o'  courtship — not  just  then,"  he  added  guardedly. 
"  I  war  thinking  of  an  old  mare  I  meant  to  sell  Timothy  Want- 
less  to-morn  for  twice  as  much  as  she's  worth.  She  wasn't 
fit  to  carry  one  o'  Sir  Jasper's  men,  and  she'll  ruin  him  i* 
corn  afore  he  comes  back  fro'  Lunnon,  and  it  stands  to  reason 
she  mun  be  sold  for  what  she'll  fetch.  And  I  war  scratching 
my  head,  like,  wondering  how  I'd  get  round  Timothy — he's 
stiff  and  snappy  at  a  bargain — when  I  happened  to  look  up — 
and  there  war  men  on  horseback,  fair  i'  th'  middle  o'  the  sky, 
riding  all  as  it  might  have  been  a  hunting  day." 

"  Good  sakes !     I'll  go  skerry  to  my  bed,  Simon." 

"  It  war  queer,  I  own ;  and,  if  they'd  been  on  safe  ground, 
I'd  have  run  in  to  see  what  'twas  all  about;  but,  seeing  they 
were  up  above,  I  watched  'em  a  while,  and  then  I  left  'em  to 
it." 


THE  HEIR  RETURNS  107 

Martha's  brief  mood  of  superstition  passed.  "  Simon, 
you're  as  sober  as  a  man  that's  never  had  th'  chance  to  step  into 
an  ale-house,  and  you're  over  old  to  be  courting-daft " 

"  Not  so  old,  my  lass,"  he  broke  in,  with  the  heat  she  had 
tempted  from  him.  "  I  should  know,  at  my  age,  how  to  court 
a  woman." 

"  I  believe  you  do,  Simon — if  nobbut  you'd  try  your  hand, 
like." 

"  Lads  go  daft  about  ye  women — think  ye're  all  made  up 
of  buttercups  and  kiss-me-quicks.  But  I  know  different." 

"Oh,  ay?"  asked  Martha  gently.  "What  d'ye  know, 
Simon?" 

"  Naught  so  much,  lass — only  that  women  are  like  nettles. 
Handle  'em  tenderly,  and  they'll  gi'e  ye  a  rash  ye  can  feel  for 
a  week  o'  days.  But  grasp  'em — and  they're  soft  as  let- 
tuces." 

"  I  allus  did  say  older  men  had  more  sense  than  lads. 
You're  right,  Simon.  Grasp  us " 

"  Ay,  another  day,"  said  Simon — bluntly,  and  with  a  hint  of 
fear.  "  For  my  part,  I'm  too  full  o'  Sir  Jasper's  business  to 
heed  any  sort  o'  moonshine." 

He  was  half  up  the  road  already,  but  she  enticed  him  back. 

"  These  men  you  saw  riding  in  the  sky,  Simon  ?  You've 
frightened  me — and  I  was  allus  feared  o'  ghosties." 

Simon,  though  he  would  not  admit  it,  was  troubled  by  the 
picture  he  had  seen,  up  yonder  on  the  moors;  and,  after  the 
human  fashion,  he  was  willing  to  share  his  trouble  with 
another. 

"  Well,  I  saw  'em — no  denying  that,"  he  said,  returning 
slowly.  "  There  were  two  riding  at  the  front — like  as  it  might 
have  been  Sir  Jasper  and  Squire  Demaine — and  a  lot  o'  horse- 
men scampering  after.  There  was  thick  haze  all  across  the 
sky,  and  I  saw  'em  like  a  picture  in  a  printed  book.  I'd  have 
thought  less  about  it,  Martha,  if  it  hadn't  been  that  Maister 
Rupert — the  day,  ye  mind,  he  came  home  from  fighting  his 
brother — told  me  how,  that  varry  morn,  he'd  seen  the  like  pic- 


108  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

ture  up  above  his  head — just  horsemen,  he  said,  galloping  up 
and  down  where  honest  sky  should  be." 

"  Ben  o'  the  stables  war  talking  of  it  awhile  since,  now  I 
call  to  mind.  One  here  and  there  had  seen  the  same  sort 
o'  picture,  he  said;  but  I  paid  no  heed.  Ben  was  allus  light 
and  feather-brained — not  steady,  Simon,  like  ye." 

Her  glance  was  tender,  frank,  dismaying;  and  Simon  an- 
swered it  with  a  slow,  foolish  smile.  "  Steady  is  as  steady 
does.  For  my  part — what  wi'  rheumatiz,  and  seeing  other 
folk  get  all  the  fighting,  and  me  left  at  home — ye  could  mak 
a  bit  of  a  lile  fool  o'  me,  Martha,  I  do  believe.  Ye're  so  bon- 
nie,  like " 

"  No  harm  i'  that,  is  there?" 

"  Well,  not  just  what  ye'd  call  harm — not  exactly  harm — but 
my  day's  over,  lass." 

"  That's  what  the  rooster  said  when  he  war  moulting, 
Simon;  but  he  lived  to  crow  another  day." 

Simon  had  learned  from  the  far-off  days  of  soldiering  that 
there  are  times  when  the  bravest  are  counselled  to  retreat  in 
good  order.  "  Well,  I'm  i'  the  moult  just  now,"  he  said  im- 
passively, "  and  it's  time  I  gat  into  th'  house,  now  they're  made 
me  some  queer  sort  of  indoor  servant.  Lady  Royd  will  be 
wanting  this  and  that — ye  know  her  pretty-prat  way,  needing 
fifty  things  i'  a  minute." 

"  But,  Simon " 

He  trudged  steadily  forward,  not  turning  his  head;  and 
Martha  sighed  as  she  climbed  the  gate  again  and  began  to 
rock  gently  to  and  fro.  "  Men  are  kittlesome  cattle,"  she  said 
discontentedly. 

Round  the  bend  of  the  road  below  she  heard  the  sound  of 
footsteps — halting  steps  that  now  and  then  ceased  for  a  while. 
She  forgot  Simon,  forgot  her  peevishness,  as  she  saw  the 
figure  that  came  up  the  road  towards  her.  All  the  mother- 
hood that  was  strong  and  eager  in  this  lass  came  to  the  front 
as  she  saw  Rupert,  the  heir — Rupert,  who  had  been  missing 
since  the  dawn — come  home  in  this  derelict,  queer  fashion. 


THE  HEIR  RETURNS  109 

She  ran  out  and  put  an  arm  about  him.  He  was  not  the  heir 
now,  the  master  left  in  charge  of  Windyhough ;  he  was  the  lad 
whose  cries  she  had  helped  to  still,  long  since  in  nursery  days. 

"  Why,  sir,  ye're  i'  th'  wars,  and  proper.  You're  limping 
sorely." 

Rupert  steadied  himself  against  her  arm  for  a  moment,  then 
put  her  away  and  went  forward.  "  Nay,  I'm  out  of  the  wars, 
Martha,"  he  said,  with  the  rare  smile  that  made  friends  among 
those  who  chanced  to  see  it.  "  I'm  out  of  the  wars — and 
that's  my  trouble." 

"  But  you're  limping " 

"  Yes,"  he  snapped,  with  sudden  loss  of  temper.  "  I'm  limp- 
ing, Martha — since  my  birth.  That's  no  news  to  me." 

He  went  in  at  the  door  of  Windyhough,  and  in  the  hall 
encountered  Lady  Royd.  The  light  was  dim  here,  and  she  did 
not  see  his  weariness. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  Rupert  ?  "  she  asked  peevishly. 

He  kissed  her  lightly  on  the  cheek.  "  I've  been  up  the 
moors,  mother,"  he  said,  "  planning  how  best  to  defend  Windy- 
hough  if  the  attack  should  come."  He  was  here  to  take  up 
the  post  allotted  to  him,  and  to  his  last  ebb  of  strength  he 
meant  to  be  debonair  and  cheery,  as  his  father  would  have 
been  under  like  hardship.  "  There  are  so  few  men  left  here, 
and  all  of  us  are  either  old,  or— or  useless,"  he  added,  with 
his  whimsical,  quiet  smile. 

Lady  Royd,  oppressed  by  loneliness,  swept  out  of  her  self- 
love  by  the  storm  of  this  Loyal  Meet  that  had  left  her  in  its 
wake,  stood  near  to  the  life  which  is  known  to  workaday  folk 
— the  life  made  up  of  sleet  and  a  little  sun,  of  work  and  the 
need  for  faith  and  courage.  She  looked  at  her  boy,  trying  to 
read  his  face  in  the  dull,  uncertain  light;  and  her  heart  ached 
for  him. 

"  But,  Rupert,"  she  said  by  and  by,  "  there's  no  fear  of  at- 
tack. The  march  has  gone  south — the  fighting  will  be  there, 
not  here — you  overheard  your  father  say  as  much." 

He  winced,  remembering  the  eagerness  with  which  he  had 


110  THE  LOXE  ADVENTURE 

followed  Sir  Jasper  round  the  house,  the  pride  he  had  felt 
in  noting  each  loophole,  the  muskets,  and  the  piles  of  shot  en- 
trusted to  his  care.  He  recalled,  with  minute  and  pitiful 
exactness,  how  afterwards  he  had  been  an  unwilling  listener 
while  his  father  said  it  had  been  all  a  fairy-tale  to  lull  his 
elder-born  to  sleep. 

"  My  father  said  it  was  child's-play,"  he  answered  quietly. 
"Yes,  I'm  not  likely  to  forget  just  what  he  said — and  what 
he  left  unsaid.  But,  mother,  the  storm  might  blow  this  way 
again,  and  I'm  here  to  guard  you,  as  I  promised." 

The  day  was  no  easy  one  for  Rupert,  accustomed  from  child- 
hood to  find  himself  in  the  rear  of  action.  Yet  it  was  harder 
to  Lady  Royd,  who  had  known  little  discipline  till  now,  who 
looked  at  this  son  who  was  counted  scholarly,  and,  with  eyes 
accustomed  to  the  dim  light  of  the  hall,  saw  at  last  the  stub- 
born manhood  in  his  face. 

"  I  did  not  guess,"  she  said,  her  voice  gentle,  wondering, 
submissive — "  Rupert,  I  did  not  guess  till  now  why  your 
father  was  always  so  full  of  trust  in  you." 

His  eyes  brightened.  He  had  expected  a  colder  welcome 
from  this  pretty,  sharp-tongued  mother.  It  seemed,  after  all, 
he  had  done  well  to  return  to  his  post  at  Windyhough.  His 
thoughts  ran  forward,  like  a  pack  in  full  cry.  The  battle 
might  shift  north  again — there  might  be  some  hot  skirmish  in 
the  open,  or  the  need  to  protect  fugitives  at  Windyhough — or 
twenty  pleasant  happenings  that  would  give  him  escape  from 
idle  sentry-duty  here.  Rupert  was  at  his  dreams  again.  An 
hour  since  he  had  dragged  himself  along  the  road,  sick  at 
heart,  sick  of  body,  disillusioned  altogether ;  and  now  he  was 
eager  with  forward  hope  because  Lady  Royd,  from  the  pain 
of  her  own  trouble,  had  found  one  swift  word  of  encourage- 
ment. Encouragement  had  been  rare  in  the  lad's  life,  and  he 
found  it  a  fine  stimulant — too  fine  a  one  for  his  present  needs. 
He  moved  quickly  forward.  His  damaged  foot  bent  under 
him,  and  for  a  moment  the  pain  made  him  wince. 

"  It  is  nothing,  mother,"  he  said,  dropping  on  to  the  settle 


THE  HEIR  RETURNS  111 

and  looking  up  with  the  quiet  smile  that  haunted  her.  "  I'm 
tired  and  wet — wet  through  to  the  heart,  I  think — let  me  get 
up  and  help  you." 

She  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  this  son,  who  was  grow- 
ing dearer  to  her  each  moment.  Shut  off  from  real  life  too 
long,  she  had  no  skill  such  as  workaday  mothers  would  have 
learned  by  now,  and  she  called  shrilly  for  the  servants. 

A  big  man,  bent  in  the  body,  made  his  way  forward  pres- 
ently through  the  women,  pushing  them  aside  as  if  he  picked 
his  way  through  useless  lumber.  It  was  Simon  Foster,  who 
had  grown  used,  in  the  far-off  '15  Rising,  to  the  handling  of 
wounded  men. 

"  A  baddish  sprain — no  more,  no  less,"  he  growled,  after 
he  had  taken  off  boot  and  stocking  and  looked  at  the  swollen 
ankle. 

"  Oh,  the  poor  lad ! "  cried  Lady  Royd,  fidgety  and  useless. 
"  Go,  one  of  you,  for  the  surgeon " 

"  There's  no  need,  my  lady,"  broke  in  Simon  Foster.  He 
had  forgotten  the  manners  of  a  trained  servant,  and  was  back 
again  in  the  happy  days  when  he  had  carried  a  pike  for  the 
Cause  and  did  not  know  it  lost.  "  I've  mended  worse  mat- 
ters than  this  in  my  time.  You,  Martha,  get  bandages. 
They're  somewhere  handy — we  brought  plenty  in  at  haytime, 
along  with  the  powder-kegs." 

Lady  Royd  did  not  rebuke  him.  Martha,  who  not  long 
since  had  tempted  him  to  folly,  went  off  submissively  to  do 
his  bidding.  It  seemed  natural  to  these  women  that  a  man 
should  be  in  command — a  man  who  knew  his  mind  and  did 
not  turn  aside. 

"  There,"  said  Simon,  after  he  had  strapped  the  ankle.  "  It 
will  bother  ye  a  while,  master,  but  there's  a  lot  o'  time  for 
rest  these  days  at  Windyhough.  Let  me  gi'e  ye  an  arm  up  the 
stair.  Ye'd  best  get  to  bed,  I  reckon." 

Nance  Demaine  had  kept  to  her  room  this  morning.  They 
had  brought  her  to  Windyhough,  had  taken  her  mare,  had  left 
her  derelict  in  a  house  that  harboured  only  memories  of  past 


112  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

deeds.  The  active  men  were  gone;  the  mettled  horses  were 
gone ;  she  was  bidden  to  keep  within  four  walls,  and  wait,  and 
pray.  And  she  wished  neither  to  pray  nor  to  be  stifled  by 
four  house-walls;  she  longed  to  be  out  in  the  open  country, 
following  the  open  road  that  had  led  to  her  heart's  desire. 
Tired  of  her  own  thoughts  at  last,  she  went  out  on  to  the  land- 
ing, with  a  restless  sense  that  duty  was  calling  her  below- 
stairs ;  but  she  got  no  farther  than  the  window  that  looked  on 
a  stormy  sweep  of  moorland. 

Nance  was  in  a  bitter  mood,  as  she  sat  in  the  window-seat 
and  watched  the  white,  lifeless  hills,  the  sodden  fields.  Squire 
Demaine  had  trained  her  to  love  of  galloping  and  loyalty,  had 
taught  her  that  England's  one,  prime  need  was  to  see  a  Stuart 
on  the  throne  again ;  and  now,  when  deeds  were  asked  of 
men  and  women  both,  he  had  left  her  here,  to  weave  sam- 
plers, or  to  help  Lady  Royd  brew  simples  in  the  stillroom, 
while  they  waited  for  their  men  to  come  home  from  the 
slaying. 

There  was  Will  Underwood,  too.  With  the  obstinacy  that 
attaches  to  a  girl's  first  love,  she  was  warm  in  defence  of  him 
against  the  men  who  had  liked  him — some  few  of  them — but 
had  never  trusted  him.  He  had  not  come  to  claim  her  ker- 
chief. Well,  he  would  claim  it  another  day;  he  had  his  own 
reasons,  doubtless,  for  joining  the  Meet  farther  south.  Some 
urgent  message  had  reached  him — from  the  Prince  himself, 
may  be — bidding  him  ride  out  on  an  errand  of  especial  dan- 
ger. No  surmise  was  too  wild  to  find  acceptance.  He  was 
so  strong,  so  graceful  and  well-favoured ;  he  sat  his  horse  so 
well,  courted  risks  which  prudent  riders  declined.  It  was 
fitting  that  he  should  be  chosen  for  some  post  demanding 
gaiety,  a  firm  seat  in  saddle,  and  reckless  courage. 

Nance,  for  all  the  sleety  outlook,  was  seeing  this  Rising  again 
as  a  warm,  impulsive  drama.  She  had  watched  Sir  Jasper 
and  her  father  ride  out,  had  been  chilled  by  their  simple 
gravity ;  but  she  had  forgotten  the  lesson  already,  in  her  girl's 
need  for  the  alluring  and  the  picturesque.  This  love  of  hers 


THE  HEIR  RETURNS  113 

for  Underwood  was  an  answer  to  the  like  need.  At  all  haz- 
ards she  must  have  warmth  and  colour,  to  feed  her  young, 
impulsive  dreams  of  a  world  built  in  the  midst  of  fairyland. 
She  could  not  know,  just  yet,  that  the  true  warmth,  the  true, 
vivid  colours  come  to  those  who,  not  concerned  with  the 
fairyland  of  make-believe,  ride  leal  and  trusty  through  the 
wind  that  stings  their  faces,  over  the  sloppy,  ill-found  roads 
that  spatter  them  with  mud. 

She  was  desolate,  this  child  who  sat  in  the  window-seat  and 
constructed  all  afresh  the  picture  of  her  hero-lover.  She  was 
weaving  one  of  the  samplers  she  despised,  after  all — not  with 
wool  and  canvas,  but  in  fancy's  loom.  Obstinate  in  her  de- 
mand for  vivid  drama,  she  was  following  Will  Underwood 
already  on  this  errand  that  the  Prince  had  entrusted  to  his 
care.  She  saw  him  riding  through  the  dangerous  night  roads, 
and  prayed  for  his  safety,  at  each  corner  of  a  highway  peopled 
with  assassins.  She  saw  him  galloping  recklessly  in  open  day- 
light, meeting  odds  laughable  in  their  overwhelming  number, 
killing  his  men,  not  singly  but  by  scores,  as  he  rode  on,  un- 
touched, and  gay,  and  loyal  to  his  trust.  It  is  so  that  young 
love  is  apt  to  make  its  idol  a  knight  miraculous,  moving 
through  a  cloud-land  too  ethereal  for  the  needs  of  each  day 
as  it  comes.  Nance  Demaine  could  hold  her  own  in  the  open 
country;  but  here,  shut  in  by  the  walls  of  a  house  that  was 
old  and  dumb,  waiting  for  the  men's  return,  she  reached  out 
for  Will  Underwood's  help,  and  needed  him — or  needed  the 
untried,  easy  air  of  romance  that  he  carried  with  him. 

She  got  up  from  the  window-seat  at  last.  The  sleet  and 
the  piping  wind  wearied  her.  She  was  tired  already  of  inac- 
tion, ashamed  of  the  thoughts  that  could  not  keep  away  from 
pictures  of  Will  Underwood,  riding  on  the  Prince's  service. 
She  remembered  that  she  was  a  guest  here,  that  she  must 
get  away  from  her  dreams  as  best  she  might. 

"  I  must  go  down,"  she  said  fretfully.  "  Lady  Royd  will  be 
needing  me.  And  she'll  take  my  hands,  and  cry  a  little,  and 
ask  me,  '  Will  Sir  Jasper  live  ?  '  And  then  she'll  kiss  me,  and 


114  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

cry  again,  and  ask,  '  Will  Sir  Jasper  die  ? '  Oh,  I  know  it  all 
beforehand !  But  I  must  go  down." 

Even  now  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  the  effort.  She 
paced  up  and  down  the  floor  of  her  bedchamber.  Disdain  of 
her  position  here,  intemperate  dislike  of  weaklings,  the  long- 
ing to  be  out  and  about  under  the  free  sky,  were  overwhelm- 
ing in  their  call  to  this  child  who  needed  discipline.  And, 
though  she  was  Squire  Demaine's  child,  she  resented  this  first, 
drab-coloured  call  of  duty. 

She  braced  herself  to  the  effort.  But  she  was  bitter  still, 
and  some  remembrance  of  her  father's  teaching  took  her  un- 
awares. "  Lady  Royd  comes  from  the  south  country,  where 
they  killed  a  Royal  Stuart  once,"  she  muttered.  "  She  does 
not  know — she  cannot  even  learn — our  northern  ways.  Sir 
Jasper  lives  or  dies — but  either  way  he  lives.  She  does  not 
know  that  either  way  he  lives — as  we  count  life  up  here." 

Nance  was  shaken  by  the  passion  known  to  women  who 
have  seen  their  men  go  out  to  war — the  passion  that  finds  no 
outlet  in  hard  give-and-take — the  desperate,  keen  heartache 
that  is  left  to  feed  upon  itself. 

"  I  must  go  down,"  she  said,  as  if  repeating  a  lesson  hard  to 
learn. 

As  she  opened  the  door  and  crossed  the  landing,  she  heard  a 
heavy  footfall  on  the  stair  below,  then  Simon  Foster's  laboured 
breathing.  Some  instinct  of  disaster  chilled  her.  In  this 
house  of  emptiness,  with  the  wind  roaming  like  an  unquiet 
ghost  down  every  corridor,  she  listened  to  the  uncanny,  stealthy 
up-coming.  Once,  years  ago,  she  had  heard  men  bringing 
home  her  brother,  killed  in  the  hunting-field ;  and  it  seemed  to 
her  that  she  was  listening  to  the  same  sounds  again,  was  feel- 
ing the  same  vague,  unreasoning  dread.  Then  she  remem- 
bered that  Rupert  had  been  missing  since  dawn,  and  she  was 
moved  by  some  grief  that  struck  deeper  than  she  understood. 

They  turned  the  corner  of  the  stair  at  last,  and  Nance  saw 
Rupert  coming  up — Rupert,  his  face  grey  and  tired  as  he 
leaned  on  Simon's  arm;  Rupert,  who  looked  older,  manlier, 


THE  HEIR  RETURNS  115 

more  like  Sir  Jasper.  And  then,  for  no  reason  she  could  have 
given,  she  lost  half  her  grief.  At  least  he  was  not  dead ;  and 
there  was  a  look  about  him  which  stronger  men  of  her 
acquaintance  had  worn  when  they  were  in  the  thick  of  trouble. 

There  was  a  long,  mullioned  window  lighting  the  stairway 
head.  And  Rupert,  looking  up,  saw  Nance  standing  there — • 
close  to  him,  yet  far  away  as  some  lady  of  dreams  might 
stand.  The  keen  winter's  sun,  getting  out  from  sleet-clouds, 
made  a  St.  Luke's  summer  round  about  her;  and  Nance,  who 
was  just  comely,  good  to  see,  at  other  times,  borrowed  a 
strange  beauty  from  the  hour  and  place,  and  from  the  human 
pity  that  was  troubling  her. 

Rupert  halted  on  the  landing,  and  looked  at  her  as  if  she 
were  food  and  drink  to  him.  Then  he  flushed,  and  turned  his 
head. 

"  You  ?  "  he  said  quietly.  "  I'd  rather  have  met  any  one  but 
you  just  now." 

"And  why,  my  dear?"  asked  Nance,  with  simple  tender- 
ness. 

"  Why?  Because  I'm  maimed,  and  sick  at  heart,"  he  said 
savagely. 

"  How  did  it  come  about?"  she  interrupted,  with  the  same 
impulsive  tenderness. 

"  I  tried  to  join  the  Rising,  and  was  thrown.  So  much  was 
to  be  expected,  Nance?" 

She  had  been  thinking  hard  things  of  stay-at-homes  and 
weaklings ;  and,  as  she  looked  at  Rupert  now,  she  was  touched 
by  keen  reproach.  He  was  ashamed,  tired  out,  in  pain  of  soul 
and  body ;  yet  he  was  smiling,  was  making  a  jest  of  his  indif- 
ferent horsemanship. 

Nance  recalled  once  more  that  evening  on  the  moors,  when 
Rupert  had  bidden  Will  Underwood  ride  with  her  to  Windy- 
hough,  while  he  stayed  with  his  brother.  In  his  voice,  in  the 
set  of  his  whole  face,  there  had  been  a  stubborn  strength  that 
had  astonished  her;  and  here  again,  on  the  sunlit,  draughty 
stairhead,  he  was  showing  her  a  glimpse  of  his  true  self. 


116  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  I  wish  you  better  luck,"  she  said  simply — "  oh,  so  much 
better  luck." 

He  saw  that  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  felt  his  weak- 
ness coming  on  him  like  a  cloud,  and  fought  it  for  a  moment 
longer. 

"  It  will  come,  Nance,"  he  said — cheerily,  though  he  felt 
himself  a  liar.  "  Go  down  to  mother.  She — she  needs  help 
more  than  I.  Now,  Simon,  you've  got  your  breath  again." 

"  Ay,  maister — as  mich  as  I  shall  ever  get,  as  the  short- 
winded  horse  said  when  they  asked  him  why  he  roared  like 
a  smithy-bellows." 

"  Then  I'll  go  forward  " — again  the  keen,  bitter  smile — "  to 
the  lumber-room,  Simon,  among  the  broken  odds  and  ends." 

Nance  stood  aside,  finding  no  words  to  help  herself  or  him, 
and  watched  them  go  along  the  corridor,  and  in  at  the  door  of 
Rupert's  bedchamber.  And  she  knew,  beyond  doubt  or  sur- 
mise, that  the  Loyal  Meet  had  left  one  useful  volunteer  at 
home  to-day. 

She  found  Lady  Royd  in  the  low-raftered  parlour  that  al- 
ways carried  an  air  of  luxury  and  ease.  In  summer  it  was 
heavy  with  the  scent  of  garden  flowers ;  and  now  there  was  a 
tired,  luxurious  appeal  from  bowls  of  faded  rose-leaves  set 
everywhere  about  the  room.  A  fire,  too  big  for  the  comfort 
of  open-air  folk,  was  crackling  on  the  hearth.  In  all  things 
this  parlour  was  a  dainty  frame  enough  for  the  mistress  whose 
beauty  had  been  nipped,  not  strengthened,  by  the  keen  winds 
of  Lancashire. 

"  Nance,  will  he  live?"  asked  Lady  Royd,  running  forward 
with  the  outstretched  hands,  the  very  words,  that  she  had 
looked  for.  But  she  spoke  of  Rupert,  not  of  Sir  Jasper. 
"  He  came  home  so  wearied-out — so  lame  and  grey  of 
face " 

"  Oh,  I  met  him  on  the  stairhead  just  now,"  broke  in  Nance, 
with  sharp  common  sense.  "  He's  had  a  fall  from  his  horse — 
and  he  made  a  jest  of  it — and  that  is  all." 

"Then  he'll  not  die,  you  think?    Nance,  tell  me,  he'll  not 


THE  HEIR  RETURNS  117 

die.  I've  been  unkind  to  him  in  days  past,  and  I — I  am 
sorry." 

It  seemed  to  Nance  that  in  this  house  of  Windyhough  she 
was  never  to  escape  from  pity,  from  the  sharper,  clearer  in- 
sight into  life  that  these  hopeless  days  were  teaching  her. 
This  pretty  matron,  whom  her  husband  had  spoiled,  sheltering 
her  from  draughts  as  if  she  were  a  hothouse  flower  too  rare 
to  take  her  chance  in  the  open  border — she  was  foolish  as  of 
old,  so  far  as  speech  and  manner  went.  But  in  her  face,  in 
her  lisping,  childish  voice,  there  was  a  new,  strong  appeal  that 
touched  the  younger  woman. 

"  I  think  that  he — will  live,"  said  the  girl,  with  sudden  pas- 
sion. "  He's  here  among  the  women  now — but  to-morrow — 
or  the  next  day,  or  the  next — he'll  prove  himself." 

Lady  Royd  moved  aimlessly  about  the  room,  warmed  her 
hands  at  the  fire,  shivered  as  she  glanced  at  the  wintry  sun- 
light out  of  doors.  Then  she  came  close  to  Nance,  as  if  ask- 
ing protection  of  some  kind.  "  You  hold  the  Faith,  child.  I 
do  not,"  she  said,  with  bewildering  candour. 

"  But,  Lady  Royd — indeed,  we're  of  the  same  Faith " 

"  Yes,  in  the  open  shows,  when  folk  are  looking  on.  I'd  as 
lief  go  abroad  without  my  gown  as  not  be  seen  at  Mass.  It 
is  asked  of  Sir  Jasper's  wife;  so  is  constancy  to  the  yellow- 
haired  laddie  who  has  sent  sober  men  astray.  Veiled  lids  are 
asked  for  when  Will  Underwood  makes  pretty  speeches,  with 
his  eyes  on  fire ;  but  at  my  heart,  child — at  my  heart  I've  faith 
only  in  each  day's  ease  as  it  comes." 

"  Mr.  Underwood  has  gone  to  the  wars,"  broke  in  Nance, 
with  an  odd  sense  of  misery  and  an  obstinate  contempt,  for 
all  that,  of  this  woman's  prattling.  "  He'll  come  back  in 
his  own  time,  Lady  Royd,  after  the  King  is  on  his  throne 
again." 

"  But  has  he  gone  to  the  wars?  I  missed  him  among  our 
friends  to-day." 

"  Because  he  has  ridden  on  a  private  errand  of  the  Prince's." 
Nance  was  reckless  in  her  protection  of  Will's  honour.  "  He 


118  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

was  the  likeliest  rider  of  them  all  to  be  chosen  for  such 
service." 

"  Oh,  there !  And  I  hoped  he  would  be  wise,  and  stay  at 
home,  and  ride  over  now  and  then  to  cheer  us  with  his  pleasant 
face."  Her  smile  was  frail  and  listless,  with  a  certain  youth- 
ful archness  in  it  that  drew  men  to  her  side ;  but  its  appeal  was 
lost  on  Nance.  "  Of  course,  I  am  loyal  to  Sir  Jasper — and  I 
shall  cry  each  night  till  he  returns — but  Will's  homage  is 
charming,  Nance.  It  is  so  delicate,  child — a  word  here,  and 
a  glance  there — that  one  forgets  one  is  middle-aged.  He 
spent  some  years  in  Paris,  they  say — to  escape  from  his 
father's  money-making  and  from  the  bleak  chapel  on  the  hill — 
and  I  can  well  believe  it.  The  French  have  that  gift  of  sug- 
gesting a  grand  passion,  when  neither  actor  in  the  comedy  be- 
lieves a  word  of  it." 

Nance  moved  away,  and  looked  out  at  the  sunlight  and  the 
sleety  hills.  So  strong,  so  impulsive,  was  her  resistance  to  Sir 
Jasper's  wife  that  even  the  "  bleak  chapel  on  the  hill  " — she 
knew  it  well,  a  four-square,  dowdy  little  building  not  far  from 
her  own  home — took  on  an  unsuspected  strength  and  dignity. 
It  was  reared  out  of  moor-stone,  at  least — reared  by  stubborn, 
if  misguided,  folk  who  were  bred  on  the  same  uplands  as  her- 
self. Will  Underwood  had  learned  follies  in  Paris,  undoubt- 
edly; but,  if  her  liking  for  him,  her  care  for  his  honour,  had 
any  meaning,  it  rested  on  the  faith  that  he  had  outgrown  these 
early  weaknesses,  that  he  was  English  to  the  core.  He  could 
ride  straight — there  was  something  pathetic  in  her  clinging 
to  this  one,  outstanding  virtue — he  was  known  among  men  to 
be  fearless,  strong  in  all  field  sports ;  he  had  endurance  and  a 
liking  for  the  open  air.  And  Lady  Royd,  in  her  vague,  heed- 
less way,  had  painted  him  as  a  parlour  lapdog,  who  could 
while  a  pleasant  hour  away  for  women  who  lived  in  over- 
heated rooms. 

Nance  was  obstinate  in  her  loyalty  to  friends;  yet  she  re- 
membered now  stray  hints,  odds  and  ends  of  scandal  passed 
between  the  women  after  dinner,  while  they  waited  for  the 


THE  HEIR  RETURNS  119 

men  to  join  them ;  and  all  had  been  agreed  that  Will  Under- 
wood had  the  gift  of  making  the  last  woman  who  engaged  his 
ardour  believe  she  was  the  first. 

Lady  Royd  warmed  her  hands  at  the  fire  again,  and 
laughed  gently.  "  Why,  child,  you're  half  in  love  with  him, 
like  the  rest  of  us.  I  know  it  by  your  silence." 

And  Nance,  whose  good-humour  was  a  byword  among  her 
intimates,  found  her  temper  snap,  like  any  common,  ill-forged 
sword  might  do.  "  By  your  leave,"  she  said,  "  I  never  did 
anything  by  halves.  My  friends  are  my  friends.  I'm  loyal, 
Lady  Royd." 

"  Yes,  yes — and  I — am  middle-aged,  my  dear,  and  the  fire 
grows  cold  already." 

There  was  appeal  in  the  older  woman's  voice.  She  needed 
the  girl's  strength,  her  windy,  moor-swept  grasp  of  the  big 
hills  and  the  bigger  faith.  But  Nance  was  full  of  her  own 
troubles,  and  would  not  heed. 

"  There  are  dogs  left  at  Windyhough?  "  she  said,  moving  to 
the  door.  "  Well,  then,  let  me  take  them  for  a  scamper.  I 
cannot  stay  in  prison,  Lady  Royd." 

Nance  swept  out  of  the  parlour,  with  its  faded  scent  of  rose- 
leaves,  donned  hat  and  cloak,  and  went  out  in  hot  rebellion  to 
cool  her  fever  in  the  nipping  wind.  She  did  not  guess  how 
she  was  needed  by  this  frail,  discontented  woman  she  had 
left  indoors. 

Lady  Royd,  indeed,  was  human — no  more,  no  less.  She 
could  not  escape  in  a  moment  from  the  spoiled,  settled  habits 
of  a  lifetime.  Sir  Jasper  had  ridden  out,  and  the  misery  of 
it  had  been  sudden,  agonising.  Rupert  had  blundered  home, 
in  his  derelict  way,  with  a  sprained  ankle  and  a  face  as  white 
as  the  hills  he  loved;  and  the  motherhood  in  her,  untrained, 
suppressed,  had  cut  through  her  like  a  knife.  All  was  desola- 
tion here ;  and  she  thought  of  her  homeland — of  the  south 
country,  where  winds  blew  soft  and  quiet,  and  lilac  bloomed 
before  the  leaf-buds  had  well  broken  here  in  Lancashire — and 
she  was  hidden  by  a  mist  of  desperate  self-pity. 


120  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

Like  Rupert,  when  he  found  himself  lying  in  the  mud  of 
Langton  Road  not  long  ago  and  heard  his  horse  go  galloping 
down  the  wind,  she  thought  of  death  as  an  easy  pathway  of 
escape.  Like  Rupert,  she  was  not  needed  here.  She  was  not 
of  the  breed  that  rides  out,  easy  in  saddle,  on  such  heroic, 
foolish  errands  as  Sir  Jasper  coveted.  And  yet,  when  she 
came  to  face  the  matter,  she  had  not  courage,  either,  to  die 
and  venture  into  the  cold  unknown  beyond. 

She  had  talked  of  Will  Underwood,  of  his  easy  gallantry, 
and  Nance  had  thought  her  heartless ;  yet  she  had  sought  only 
a  refuge  from  the  stress  of  feeling  that  was  too  hard  for  her 
to  bear. 

She  moved  up  and  down  the  parlour,  in  her  haphazard,  use- 
less way.  Her  husband  had  ridden  out  on  a  venture  high  and 
dangerous;  and  she  was  setting  a  cushion  to  rights  here, 
smoothing  the  fold  of  a  curtain  there,  with  the  intentness  of 
a  kitten  that  sees  no  farther  than  its  playthings.  But  under 
all  there  was  a  fierce,  insistent  heartache,  a  rebellion  against 
the  weakness  that  hindered  her.  She  began  to  think  of  Ru- 
pert, to  understand,  little  by  little,  how  near  together  they 
were,  he  and  she.  Her  cowardice  seemed  lifted  away  by 
friendly  hands,  as  she  told  herself  that  she  would  go  up  and 
sit  at  the  lad's  bedside.  She  had  known  him  too  little  in  years 
past ;  there  was  time  now  to  repair  mistakes. 

Simon  Foster  was  watching  the  master,  as  he  lay  in  that 
sleep  of  sheer  exhaustion,  following  long  effort  and  self-doubt, 
which  was  giving  him  strength  and  respite  before  the  morrow 
needed  him.  Simon  heard  a  low  tapping  at  the  door,  opened 
it,  saw  Lady  Royd  standing  on  the  threshold. 

"  Is  he  asking  for  me  ?  "  she  said  diffidently. 

"  No,  my  lady.  He's  asking  for  twelve  hours  o'  sleep — and 
he'll  get  them,  if  I've  any  say  i'  the  matter." 

"  But  you'll  be  tired,  Simon,  and  I — I  am  wide  awake.  Let 
me  sit  by  him " 

"  You're  kind,"  he  interrupted  bluntly ;  "  but  I'm  watchdog 


THE  HEIR  RETURNS  121 

here,  by  your  leave.  It  happens  to  be  war,  not  peace — and  no 
offence,  my  lady." 

She  turned,  aware  that  a  man  was  in  command  here;  and 
Simon  was  left  to  his  interrupted  musings. 

"  By  the  Heart,"  he  growled,  "  if  only  he  could  find  his  way ! 
He's  lean  and  weak ;  but  the  lad's  keen,  hard-bitten  pluck — it's 
killing  him  before  his  time,  it  is.  He  can  find  no  outlet  for  it, 
like." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  ROAD  TO  THE   THRONE 

SIR  JASPER,  riding  sometimes  at  the  head  of  his  men,  at 
others  near  the  Prince,  had  little  time  for  backward  thoughts 
during  this  surprising  march.  Each  day  was  full  of  peril; 
but  each  day,  too,  was  full  of  chance  humours  of  the  road,  of 
those  odds  and  ends  of  traffic  by  the  way  which  turn  men's 
thoughts  from  a  too  deep,  unpractical  thinking  of  the  high 
Cause  only  to  the  means  by  which  step  by  step,  it  is  to  be 
attained. 

In  full  truth  they  were  following  the  open  road,  these  gentry 
of  the  Prince's.  Marshal  Wade  was  blundering  down  from 
the  north  to  take  them  in  the  rear.  The  Duke  of  Cumberland 
was  waiting  for  them  somewhere  round  about  the  Stafford 
country.  They  rode  through  villages  and  towns  that  were  not 
hostile — hostility  is  a  nettle  to  grasp  and  have  done  with  it — 
but  indifferent  or  afraid.  Throughout  this  cold  and  sloppy 
march,  wet  through,  with  the  keen  wind  piping  through  their 
sodden  clothes,  the  greatest  hardship  that  met  them  was  the 
lack  of  fierce  and  stubborn  fight. 

The  Highlanders  grew  tired  and  listless,  and  Prince  Charles, 
who  knew  their  temper  to  a  nicety,  for  it  was  his  own,  was 
forced  at  last  to  bid  the  pipers  cease  playing  reels  and  strath- 
speys down  the  road. 

"  With  all  submission,  your  Highness,"  said  Lord  Murray 
petulantly,  riding  to  his  side  as  they  marched  out  of  Lancaster, 
"  I  would  ask  your  reason.  The  pipers  not  to  play  ?  It  is  all 
the  comfort  these  Highlanders  can  find  in  England  here." 

Sir  Jasper,  riding  near,  saw  the  Prince  turn,  with  that  quick, 
hardly  restrained  impatience  which  Murray's  presence  always 
caused.  "  I  gave  the  order,"  he  answered,  with  deliberate 

199 


THE  ROAD  TO  THE  THRONE  123 

calm,  "  because  I  know  your  Highlanders — I,  who  was  bred 
in  France — better  than  their  leaders.  Give  me  an  army  in 
front,  my  lord  Murray,  give  me  Wade,  or  Cumberland,  or  the 
Elector,  barring  the  road  ahead,  and  the  pipes  shall  sing,  I 
promise  you." 

Then  suddenly  he  threw  his  head  up.  His  face,  grown  old 
and  tired,  furrowed  by  sleepless  care  for  his  five  thousand 
men,  was  young  again.  He  was  seeing  far  ahead,  beyond  the 
mud  and  jealousies  of  these  wintry  English  roads.  And  again 
Sir  Jasper  understood  why  the  women  up  in  Edinburgh  had 
gone  mad  about  this  Stuart  with  the  yellow  hair.  The  decent 
women  love  a  fighter  always — a  fighter  for  some  cause  that  is 
big  and  selfless;  and  the  Prince's  face,  just  now,  was  lit  by 
some  glow  from  the  wider  hills. 

"  The  pipes  shall  sing,"  he  went  on,  his  voice  deep,  tender, 
hurried.  "  They'll  play  like  quicksilver,  Lord  Murray,  when 
— when  the  Hanover  men  care  to  meet  us  in  the  open." 

"  But  meanwhile,  your  Highness,  we've  to  trudge  on,  and 
I  say  you're  forbidding  meat  and  drink  to  your  troops  when 
you'll  not  let  them  hear  the  pipes." 

Sir  Jasper  moved  his  horse  forward.  They  were  alone, 
the  three  of  them,  a  furlong  ahead  of  the  army.  Lord  Mur- 
ray's tone  was  so  bitter,  so  like  a  scolding  woman's  that  Sir 
Jasper's  instinct  was  to  intervene,  to  take  the  quarrel  on  his 
own  shoulders  and  settle  it,  here  by  the  wayside,  in  the  honest 
Lancashire  way.  He  was  checked  by  the  Prince  himself, 
who  returned  from  the  hills  of  dreams  with  surprising  quick- 
ness. 

"  We've  to  trudge  on,"  he  said,  with  workaday  grasp  of  the 
affairs  in  hand.  "  You  find  the  exact  word,  Lord  Murray,  as 
your  habit  is.  What  use,  then,  to  let  the  pipes  go  singing 
music  into  men's  feet?  We  have  to  trudge." 

Murray,  dour,  unimaginative,  possessed  by  a  fever  of  jeal- 
ousy which  would  not  let  him  rest,  was  scarcely  civil.  And 
manners,  after  all,  are  the  outward  sign  of  character.  "  Your 
Highness  issues  commands,  and  we  obey " 


124-  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  Why,  yes.  I  came  from  France  to  issue  them,"  broke  in 
the  other,  with  a  disdain  that  was  royal  in  its  quietness. 

Sir  Jasper  thought  of  his  windy  house  in  Lancashire,  of  the 
dreams  he  had  fed  upon,  of  the  long  preparation  for  this 
march  that  was  to  light  England  with  loyal  fires.  And  he  was 
here,  riding  at  a  footpace  through  the  dreary  roads,  watching 
the  rift  widen  between  the  Prince  and  Murray.  He  was  op- 
pressed by  some 'omen  of  the  days  to  come,  or  by  the  sadness 
of  the  Highlanders,  who  sought  a  fight  and  could  not  find  it. 
He  had  dreamed  of  an  army — loyal,  compact,  looking  neither 
to  left  nor  right — that  would  march,  at  speed  and  with  a  single 
purpose,  on  London,  an  army  that  would  not  rest  until  it  drove 
the  Hanoverian  abroad.  Instead,  there  were  divided  counsels, 
a  landscape  dreary  and  rain-shrouded,  and  Murray  for  ever 
at  their  elbows,  sowing  doubt  and  dull  suspicion. 

"  Your  Highness,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  all  in  his  quick,  hill-bred 
way,  "  we  seem  to  be  riding  on  a  Lenten  penance,  and  Christ- 
mas is  six  weeks  off  as  yet.  Surely  Lord  Murray  would  be 
well  quit  of  his  dourness." 

The  Prince  turned  in  saddle.  "  My  thanks,  Sir  Jasper,"  he 
said,  with  an  easy  laugh.  "  Lord  Murray  has  never  kept  a 
Lenten  fast — it  smacks  too  much  of  superstition,  he  says ;  but, 
by  the  God  we  serve,  Sir  Jasper,  he  would  likely  be  the  better 
for  it." 

So  then  Murray,  seeing  two  against  him  and  not  relishing 
the  odds,  lost  his  temper  outright.  "  Superstition  does  not 
carry  armies  on  to  victory,"  he  snapped. 

"  No,"  assented  the  Prince,  as  if  he  reckoned  up  a  sum  in 
simple  addition.  "  But  faith,  my  lord  Murray — it  carries  men 
far  and  happily." 

Murray  checked  himself  with  obvious  effort,  and  they  rode 
on  in  silence  for  a  while.  "  Your  Highness,  I  spoke  hastily 
just  now,"  he  said  by  and  by.  His  voice,  try  as  he  would, 
had  no  warmth  in  it,  no  true  sincerity.  "  I  ask  your  pardon." 

"  Oh,  that  is  granted.  Our  royal  purse  is  empty,  but  we 
can  still  be  spendthrift  with  forgiveness." 


THE  ROAD  TO  THE  THRONE  125 

Again  Sir  Jasper  glanced  at  this  many-sided  Prince  of  his. 
The  smile,  the  grave  rebuke  hidden  beneath  gentlest  courtesy, 
were  not  his  own ;  they  were  gifts  entrusted  to  his  keeping  by 
many  generations  of  the  Stuart  race.  They  had  not  always 
done  well  or  wisely,  these  Stuarts;  but  wherever  down  the 
track  of  history  they  had  touched  a  world  made  dull  and 
ugly  by  the  men  who  lived  in  it,  they  had  stood  always 
for  the  buoyant  faith,  the  clean  and  eager  hope,  the  royal 
breadth  of  sympathy  that  sweeps  shams  and  make-believes 
aside. 

Sir  Jasper,  riding  through  this  wet,  unlovely  country,  found 
himself  once  more  in  that  mood  of  tenderness,  of  wrath  and 
pity,  which  had  surprised  him  not  long  ago  in  Langton  High 
Street.  The  islanders  of  Skye — Skye,  in  the  misty  Highland 
country — had  known  this  mood  from  birth  and  were  ac- 
customed to  it,  as  they  were  used  to  the  daily  labour  to  win 
bread,  from  land  or  sea,  for  their  wives  and  bairns.  But  Sir 
Jasper  was  young  to  it,  and  was  disturbed  by  the  simple,  tragic 
pity  that  seemed  to  cling  about  the  Stuart — a  something  filmy 
and  impalpable,  as  if  with  him  always  there  rode  a  phantom 
shape  of  martyrdom  to  come. 

He  sought  relief  in  action,  glanced  up  and  down  the  high- 
way in  hope  of  straightforward,  healthy  battle.  But  Marshal 
Wade  was  a  good  three  days'  march  in  the  rear,  and  the  Duke 
of  Cumberland  was  playing  hide-and-seek  along  the  Stafford- 
shire lanes  without  success. 

Sir  Jasper  turned  from  looking  up  and  down  the  road,  and 
saw  Lord  Murray  riding  close  on  his  right.  The  man's  face 
was  set  and  hard ;  and  Sir  Jasper,  with  the  intuition  that  comes 
to  tired  and  heartsick  men,  knew  that  the  enemy  was  here 
among  them — not  in  the  shape  of  an  army  challenging  en- 
deavour, but  of  one  cautious  Scotsman  who  was  busy  saving 
halfpennies  while  guineas  were  going  down  the  wind. 

As  if  to  prove  Sir  Jasper's  judgment  accurate,  Lord  Mur- 
ray broke  the  silence.  "  You  spoke  of  faith  just  now,  your 
Highness,"  he  said. 


126  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  Why,  yes — because  you  asked  it  of  me.  One  seldom 
speaks  of  such  matters  unless  compelled." 

"  Then,  with  all  submission,  I  say  that  faith  is  for  kirk  on 
Sabbaths,  for  the  quietness  of  a  man's  bedchamber ;  but  we're 
here  in  open  war.  War — I've  seen  it  overseas,  and  have  been 
wounded  twice — is  a  cold,  practical  affair,  your  Highness." 

So  then  the  Prince  glanced  at  Sir  Jasper  and  laughed  out- 
right, and  after  that  was  silent  for  a  while.  "  My  lord  Mur- 
ray," he  said  quietly,  "  faith,  mine  and  Sir  Jasper's,  goes  into 
battle  with  us,  goes  into  every  road  we  take.  I'm  ashamed, 
somehow,  to  speak  so  plainly  of — of  what  I  know." 

"  May  I  speak  of  what  I,  too,  know  ? "  put  in  Murray 
sharply.  "  It  is  of  war  I  speak,  your  Highness.  I  know  the 
rules  of  it — know  that  this  hurried  march  of  ours  through 
England  can  end  only  in  disaster.  Retreat  in  good  order, 
even  now,  is  our  only  course — retreat  to  Scotland,  where  we 
can  gather  in  the  clans  that  were  slow  to  join  us " 

"  Retreat  ?  "  said  the  Prince,  his  head  lifted  suddenly,  his 
voice  ringing  with  command  and  challenge.  "  I  never  learned 
the  word,  at  school  or  afterwards.  Retreat?  My  lord  Mur- 
ray, there's  only  one  plain  rule  of  war — to  ride  forward,  and 
plant  your  blow  where  the  first  opportunity  serves." 

"  That  is  our  rule  in  Lancashire,"  put  in  Sir  Jasper  dryly. 

Murray  glanced  at  the  two  of  them.  He  had  hoped  much 
from  the  cold  logic  that  guided  his  days  for  him,  had  been 
sure  that  he  could  persuade  the  Prince  to  his  own  view  of  the 
campaign ;  and  these  two,  resolute  in  faith  and  almost  gay, 
were  treating  him  as  if  he  were  a  stripling  with  much  to  learn 
in  life  beyond  the  rules  of  war  and  mathematics. 

"  I  say,  your  Highness,  that  we've  hardened  troops  against 
us,  officered  by  men  who  have  grown  old  in  strategy " 

"  And  yet  we're  here  in  spite  of  them,  right  through  the 
northern  counties,  and  likely  to  keep  Christmas  in  London. 
We're  here,  my  lord  Murray,  because  zeal  laughs  at  strategy." 

"  For  all  that,"  put  in  Murray  dryly,  "  you'll  not  let  the  pipes 


THE  ROAD  TO  THE  THRONE  1£7 

be  played.  They,  surely,  are  musical  with  faith — your  own 
sort  of  faith,  that  bids  men  forget  calculation  and  all  else." 

Again  the  Prince  moved  impatiently  in  saddle.  "  I  am  not 
used  to  give  reasons  for  my  conduct,  but  you  shall  have  them 
now,  since  you  persist.  My  Highlanders,  they  take  a  dram  to 
whet  their  appetite  for  meals ;  but  if  there's  no  meal  waiting, 
why,  my  lord  Murray,  it  is  idle  to  offer  them  the  dram." 

"There's  no  fight  near  at  hand,  you  mean?  Your  High- 
ness, there  are  three  big  battles  that  I  know  of — and  others, 
it  may  be — waiting  close  about  us  on  this  road  to  London. 
Give  the  Highlanders  their  pipes  again.  Their  appetite  needs 
sharpening  if  you  persist  in  going  forward." 

The  Prince  glanced  at  Sir  Jasper.  "  We  go  forward,  I 
think?  "  he  asked,  with  a  whimsical,  quick  smile. 

"  That  is  our  errand,"  Sir  Jasper  answered  simply. 

"  Then,  Lord  Murray,  ride  back  and  bid  the  pipers  play 
their  fill.  And  I  pray  that  one  of  your  three  phantom  armies 
waiting  for  us  on  the  London  road  may  prove  flesh  and  blood." 

Murray  was  exact  in  his  calculations.  He  was  not  greatly 
moved  by  the  bagpipes,  for  his  own  part,  but  he  knew  that 
they  were  as  necessary  as  food  and  drink  to  the  Highlanders, 
who  were  the  nerve  and  soul  of  this  army  following  the  for- 
lornest  hope.  He  turned  his  horse  and  galloped  back. 

And  presently  the  footmen's  march  grew  brisker;  jaded 
riders  felt  their  nags  move  less  dispiritedly  under  them. 

The  pipes  were  singing,  low  at  first,  as  if  a  mother  crooned 
to  her  child  up  yonder  in  the  misty  Highlands.  And  then  the 
music  and  the  magic  grew,  till  it  seemed  that  windy  March 
was  striding,  long  and  sinewy  of  limb,  across  the  land  of 
lengthening  days  and  rising  sap  and  mating  beasts  and  birds. 
And  then,  again,  there  was  a  warmth  and  haste  in  the  music, 
a  sudden  wildness  and  a  tender  pity,  that  seemed  like  April 
ushering  in  her  broods  along  the  nestling  hedgerows,  the 
fields  where  lambs  were  playing,  the  banks  that  were  gold 
with  primroses,  and  budding  speedwell,  and  strong,  young 


£128  THE  I<ONE  ADVENTURE 

growth  of  greenstuff.  And  then,  again,  from  the  rear  of 
this  tattered  army  that  marched  south  to  win  a  kingdom  for 
the  Stuart,  full  June  was  playing  round  about  this  wet  and 
dismal  Stafford  country.  The  Prince  knew  it;  Sir  Jasper 
knew  it.  Even  Lord  Murray,  riding  far  behind  was  aware 
that  life  held  more  than  strategy  and  halfpennies. 

"  Dear  God,  the  pipes ! "  said  the  Prince,  turning  sud- 
denly. "  D'ye  hear  them,  Sir  Jasper  ?  " 

"  I'm  hill-bred,  too,  your  Highness.  Could  I  miss  their 
note?" 

And  they  fell  silent,  for  there  is  something  in  this  hill  music 
that  touches  the  soul  of  a  man.  It  finds  out  his  need  of 
battle,  his  instinct  to  be  up  and  doing  along  the  wide,  human 
thoroughfares  of  life.  And  then  it  stifles  him  with  pity,  with 
homesickness  and  longing  for  the  wife  and  bairns  who,  for 
all  that,  would  not  approve  him  if  he  failed  to  take  the  road. 
And  then,  again,  it  sounds  the  fighting  note,  till  every  fibre 
responds  to  the  call  for  instant  action. 

No  action  met  them.  They  rode  forward  through  the  driv- 
ing wind,  the  Prince  and  Sir  Jasper ;  and  now  the  pipes,  hur- 
ried and  unwearied,  played  only  mockery  about  them,  rous- 
ing their  strength  while  denying  it  an  outlet. 

It  was  then  Sir  Jasper  heard  the  first  and  last  bitter  word 
from  the  leader  who  had  summoned  him  to  this  drear  adven- 
ture. "  The  pity  of  it !  "  said  the  Prince.  "  I  ask  only  a  free 
hand,  and  they'll  not  give  it  me.  Sir  Jasper,  what  is  amiss 
with  Lord  Murray?  There  was  something  left  out  of  him  at 
birth,  I  think — soul,  or  heart — or  what  you  choose  to  name 
it.  This  march  of  ours — he  will  not  listen  when  I  tell  him  it 
is  bigger  than  the  strict  rules  of  warfare." 

Sir  Jasper  reined  near  and  put  a  hand  on  the  Prince's 
bridle-arm,  as  a  father  might  who  sees  his  boy  attempting 
more  than  his  strength  warrants.  "  I  understand,"  he  said 
simply.  "  By  your  leave,  I'll  play  watchdog  to  Murray 
till  we  reach  London.  He  stands  for  caution,  and  I  " — a 
sudden  remembrance  came  to  him  of  Windyhough,  of  the 


THE  ROAD  TO  THE  THRONE  129 

wife  and  heir,  and  his  loneliness  bit  so  deep  that,  for  shame's 
sake,  he  had  to  cover  up  his  grief — "  and  I,  your  Highness," 
he  added,  with  a  touch  of  humour,  "  have  been  blamed  for 
many  things,  but  never  yet  for  caution." 

"  No,  no.  We  might  be  old  in  friendship,  you  and  I.  We 
see  the  like  world,  Sir  Jasper — the  world  that  caution  is  too 
mean  to  enter.  And  yet  my  lord  Murray — who  has  been  bred 
among  the  hills,  while  I  have  not — has  never  learned  their 
teaching,  as  I  learned  it  at  my  first  coming  to  the  misty 
Highlands." 

The  pipes  would  not  be  quiet,  behind  them  on  this  sloppy 
road.  The  Prince,  as  his  habit  was,  had  seen  far  and  wisely 
when  he  forbade  the  music.  To  and  fro  the  uproar  went, 
wild,  insistent,  friendly  as  the  cry  of  moor-birds — snipe  and 
curlew  and  wide-roving  plover — to  men  who  love  the  uplands. 
The  music  lacked  its  fulness,  for  in  these  Midlands  there 
were  no  mountains  to  echo  it,  to  pass  it  on  from  rise  to  rise, 
till  it  grew  faint  and  elfin-like  among  the  blue  moor-tops; 
but  even  here  the  pipes  were  swift  and  tender  with  persua- 
sion. 

"All  this,  Sir  Jasper,"  the  Prince  said  by  and  by — "the 
pipes  playing  fury  into  us,  and  in  front  of  us  the  empty  road. 
Murray  promised  us  three  battles  at  the  least,  and  we're  here 
like  soldiers  on  parade." 

Sir  Jasper  had  cherished  dreams  of  this  Rising,  but  war, 
in  the  hot  fighting  and  in  the  dreary  silences  between,  is  not 
made  up  of  dreams.  The  poetry  of  it  comes  before  and 
after,  when  peace  smooths  her  ruffled  plumage  and  sings  of 
heroism ;  the  prose  of  it  is  so  commonplace  that  men  sensi- 
tively built  need  dogged  loyalty  to  keep  them  safe  from  dis- 
illusionment. 

"The  wind  blows  east,  your  Highness,"  he  said.  "You'll 
pardon  me,  but  an  east  wind  sets  my  temper  all  on  edge. 
My  sympathy  is  catholic,  but  I'd  hang  the  nether  millstone 
round  Lord  Murray's  neck  if  I  had  my  way." 

The  Prince  glanced  behind,  because  the  pipes  were  tired  of 


ISO  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

battle  now,  and  were  crooning  lullabies — the  strong,  tender 
cradle-songs  that  Highland  mothers  know.  "  No,"  he  said 
quietly.  "  We  share  the  same  desire,  but  we'd  relent." 

"  Not  I,  for  one." 

"  Yes,  you,  for  one,  and  I,  for  one,  because  we're  human. 
So  few  of  your  English  folk  are  human,  somehow,  as  I've 
seen  them  since  my  Highlanders  crossed  Annan  River. 
They're  ill-clad,  these  Highland  lads  of  mine,  and  raw  to  look 
at,  but  they  carry  the  ready  heart,  Sir  Jasper,  and  the  simple 
creed — you  can  bend  them  till  point  meets  hilt,  like  a  Ferrara 
blade,  and  yet  not  break  them." 

"  We  are  tempered  steel  in  Lancashire,  your  Highness," 
said  Sir  Jasper,  in  passionate  defence  of  his  county.  "  Few 
of  us  have  come  to  the  Rising,  but  I  can  answer  for  each  man 
of  mine  that  follows  you." 

"  I  was  hasty ;  the  pipes  play  that  mood  into  a  man. 
When  we  planned  this  Rising,  years  ago  in  France,  the  King 
— my  father — bade  me  remember  always  that  Lancashire  was 
staunch  and  its  women  beautiful.  The  east  wind  must  be 
excuse  for  me,  too,  Sir  Jasper." 

"  Your  Highness,  I  spoke  hastily.  My  temper,  I  tell  you, 
is  frayed  at  the  .edges  by  winter  and  harsh  weather." 

"  I  like  your  temper  well  enough,  Sir  Jasper.  Let's  take  a 
pinch  of  snuff  together,  since  there's  nothing  else  to  do." 

It  was  in  this  mood  that  they  rode  into  a  little  village  clus- 
tered round  a  stream.  The  hamlet  was  so  small  that  the 
crowd  of  men  and  women  gathered  round  about  the  ford 
seemed  bigger  than  its  numbers.  The  villagers,  enticed  by  the 
news  that  the  Rising  neared  their  borders,  raised  a  sudden 
tumult  when  they  saw  the  van  of  the  army  ride  into  sight. 
Curiosity  held  them,  while  fear  and  all  the  rumours  they  had 
heard  prompted  them  to  instant  flight.  Mothers  clutched 
their  babies,  and  turned  as  if  to  run  for  shelter,  then  turned 
again  and  halted  between  two  minds,  and  must  needs  stay 
to  see  what  these  queer  Highlanders  were  like.  The  younger 
women,  glad  of  this  respite  from  the  day's  routine,  ogled  the 


THE  ROAD  TO  THE  THRONE  131 

Prince  and  Sir  Jasper  with  unaffected  candour.  The  men 
looked  on  sheepishly,  afraid  for  their  own  safety,  but  not  con- 
tent to  leave  their  women  in  the  lurch. 

"  Here's  the  cannibals  from  Scotland ! "  cried  one  big, 
shrill-voiced  woman.  "  They  feed  on  English  babies,  so  we're 
told.  Dear  mercy,  I  hope  they've  had  their  breakfast  earlier 
on  the  road !  " 

The  Prince  checked  his  horse  suddenly.  His  face  was 
flushed,  ashamed,  as  if  a  blow  had  struck  him  on  the  cheek. 
"  My  good  woman,"  he  said,  bending  from  saddle  to  look 
into  her  plump,  foolish  face,  "  have  they  lied  so  deep  to  you 
as  that?" 

"  Lies  ?  Nay,  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about,  or  should  do 
at  my  years.  There've  been  well-spoken  gentry  in  and  out 
these  weeks  past,  and  they  all  had  the  same  tale ;  so  it  stands 
to  reason  the  tale  was  true  as  Candlemas."  She  set  her  arms 
akimbo.  The  quietness  of  this  horseman  who  talked  to  her, 
his  good  looks  and  subtle  air  of  breeding,  had  killed  her  ter- 
ror and  given  her  instead  a  bravado  no  less  foolish.  "  Thou'rt 
well  enough  to  look  at,  lad,  and  I  wish  I  was  younger,  I  do, 
to  kiss  ye  on  the  sly  when  my  man  didn't  happen  to  be  look- 
ing; but  the  rest  o'  ye,  coming  down  the  road,  ye're  as 
ragged  a  lot  o'  trampish  folk  as  I've  set  eyes  on." 

The  Prince  laughed,  not  happily,  but  as  if  the  pipes  were 
bidding  him  weep  instead.  Then  he  plucked  his  mare  for- 
ward— Nance  Demaine's  mare,  which  he  had  borrowed — and 
splashed  through  the  ford.  And  it  was  not  till  the  hamlet  was 
a  mile  behind  him  that  he  turned  to  Sir  Jasper. 

"  A  lie  chills  me,"  he  said  abruptly ;  "  especially  a  lie  that 
is  foisted  on  poor,  unlettered  folk.  They  told  me  this  and 
that,  Sir  Jasper,  of  Hanoverian  methods,  and  I — what  shall 
I  say? — disdained,  I  think,  to  believe  it  of  an  enemy.  They 
will  not  fight  us  in  the  open  since  we  worsted  them  at  Pres- 
tonpans,  but  instead  they  send  '  well-spoken  gentry  '  to  honey- 
comb the  countryside  with  lies." 

Sir  Jasper,  the  more  he  followed  the  open  road  with  this 


132  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

Comrade  in  adversity,  found  ever  and  ever  a  deeper  liking 
for  him.  He  could  be  ashamed,  this  Stuart  whom  women 
had  done  their  best  to  spoil  in  Scotland — could  be  ashamed 
because  his  Highlanders  were  slighted ;  could  stand  apart  from 
his  own  danger  and  weariness,  and  grow  hot  with  punctilious 
care  for  the  honour  of  the  men  who  followed  him.  And  the 
older  man  thought  no  longer  of  Windyhough,  of  ties  that 
had  not  been  sundered  lightly;  he  was  content  to  be  in  com- 
pany with  one  who,  by  instinct  and  by  training,  was  a  leader 
of  the  true  royal  fibre. 

The  Prince  was  glancing  straight  ahead  as  they  jogged 
forward,  and  in  his  eyes  was  the  look  which  moorland  folk 
know  as  "  seeing  far." 

"  My  Highlanders  are  cannibals  ?  "  he  said,  not  turning  his 
head,  seeming  to  need  no  listener,  or  to  have  forgotten  that 
he  rode  in  company.  "  The  men  I've  learned  to  know  by 
heart  during  these  last  wintry  months — is  that  their  reputa- 
tion?" 

"  It  was  a  silly  woman's  gibe,  your  Highness,"  put  in  the 
other,  with  blunt  common  sense.  "  Surely  you're  not  moved 
by  it?" 

"  It  was  more.  They  have  been  sending  paid  liars  up  and 
down  the  length  of  this  road  to  London — have  fouled  the  go- 
ing for  us.  I  tell  you,  Sir  Jasper,  that  lies  make  me  sick  at 
heart.  I  tell  you  an  enemy  that  will  go  so  far  in  cowardice 
will  afterwards  do  anything,  I  think — kill  wounded  men  as 
they  lie  helpless  on  the  battlefield " 

"  No,  no,  your  Highness !  With  all  submission,  your  anger 
carries  you  away." 

"  I  am  not  angry — only  tired  and  sick  at  heart,  and  seeing 
far  ahead.  I  say  that  I  am  seeing  it — a  bleak  moor  in  the 
Highland  country,  and  men  lying  on  the  ground,  and  a  rough 
bullock  of  a  man  shouting,  '  Kill  these  wounded  rascals ;  put 
them  out  of  pain ! '  And  the  wounded  are — my  Highlanders, 
who  follow  me  for  love.  There  are  MacDonalds  and  Ogilvies 
and  men  from  the  Isles — I  see  their  faces,  and  the  resolute, 


THE  ROAD  TO  THE  THRONE  138 

keen  pain  that  will  not  flincft.  The  wind's  whistling  down 
the  moor  like  Rachel  crying  for  her  children,  and  the  corbie- 
crows  are  looking  on." 

Sir  Jasper  crossed  himself  with  instinctive  piety.  So  had 
he  felt,  up  yonder  on  the  hills  of  Lancashire,  when  the  winds 
raved  through  the  heather  and  down  the  glens,  teaching  him 
sorrow,  and  the  second  sight,  and  the  need  to  prove  himself 
a  man  in  a  world  of  doubt  and  mystery. 

"  What  then,  your  Highness  ? "  he  asked  soberly. 

"  What  then  ?  "  The  Prince  passed  a  hand  across  his  eyes, 
turned  with  the  smile  that  drew  men  to  his  side.  "  Your  par- 
don, Sir  Jasper.  I've  been  up  the  hill  o'  dreams,  since  action 
is  denied  me.  What  then?  Why,  the  road  ahead,  and  each 
day's  hazard  as  it  comes." 

The  next  day,  as  they  marched  out  of  Leek,  in  Stafford- 
shire, Sir  Jasper  rode  back  along  the  line  of  march  to  see 
that  Maurice,  his  younger  born,  was  proving  himself  a  good 
deputy  in  command  of  the  Lancashire  men.  On  his  way 
through  the  scattered  units  that  made  up  this  army  of  the 
Prince's,  he  was  met  by  a  Highlander  who  came  down  the 
road  on  foot,  carrying  a  mirror — a  little,  oak-framed  thing 
that  he  had  begged  from  a  cottage  where  they  had  given  him 
food  and  drink — and  he  was  halting,  now  and  then,  to  hold 
it  up  and  look  into  it  with  pious  fervour.  And  then  again 
he  would  dance  and  caper  like  a  child  with  a  new  toy  before 
halting  for  another  glance  at  it. 

The  man's  antics  were  so  droll,  the  humour  of  it  all  so 
unexpected,  that  Sir  Jasper  checked  his  horse.  "  What  do 
you  see  there,  my  friend  ?  "  he  asked,  pointing  to  the  mirror. 
He  spoke  a  little  Gaelic,  which  he  had  learned,  with  some  hard- 
ship, from  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse  and  other  night-riders 
who  had  called  at  Windyhough  during  the  past  years. 

The  Highlander,  hearing  his  own  tongue,  spoke  as  to  a 
friend.  "  What  do  I  see  ?  My  own  face,  and  I've  not  seen 
it  since  I  left  Skye." 

"  Well,  it's  a  face  worth  looking  at,"  said  the  other,  pass- 


134  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

ing  an  easy  jest.  "  You'll  not  be  taken — alive — by  any  man 
in  England ;  but  I  fear  for  you  among  the  women." 

And  the  man  laughed  pleasantly.  And  then,  with  surpris- 
ing swiftness,  the  Skye  gladness,  that  is  never  far  from  the 
mists  o'  sorrow,  gave  way  to  passionate  tears.  "  It  carried 
me  back,  this  bit  o'  magic,"  he  said,  in  the  swift,  tender 
speech  for  which  there  are  no  English  words — "  back  to 
Skye,  and  the  blue  hills  i'  the  gloamingtide,  and  the  maid  who 
would  not  have  me  at  a  gift.  I  used  to  go  down  by  the  burn, 
where  the  deep  pool  lies  under  the  rowans,  and  see  my  face 
there — that  was  when  I  was  courting  Jock  Sinclair's  maid 
in  last  year's  summer,  and  she  said  I'd  a  face  to  scare  crows 
away  with,  but  none  for  a  lass  that  had  the  pick  o'  Skye  to 
choose  from." 

"  And  you  lost  her,  and  came  south  to  see  if  the  yellow- 
haired  laddie  could  give  you  likelier  work?" 

"  Nay,  I  married  her,"  said  the  Highlander,  with  a  gravity 
complete  and  childlike.  "  She  changed  her  mind  in  a  week, 
and  we'd  a  bonnie  wooing;  and  since  then  she's  led  me  the 
de'il's  own  dance  ower  dyke  and  ditch.  And  I  used  to  get 
up  to  the  hills  and  play  the  pipes,  all  by  my  lone  among  the 
whaups  and  eagles,  and  wish  myself  unwedded.  And  then 
the  Prince  called  me,  and  I  had  to  follow ;  and  'twas  then 
I  knew  I  loved  her  very  well."  He  paused  for  a  moment  to 
glance  into  the  mirror  which,  to  him,  was  the  pool  in  Skye 
where  the  rowans  waved  above  the  stream.  "  And  now  I'm 
missing  her,  and  the  pipes  go  skirling,  skirling,  and  there's 
no  man  at  all  to  fight  with.  It's  thirsty  I  am  to  whet  my 
claymore  for  a  while,  and  then  get  home  again  to  the  de'il's 
dance  Jock  Sinclair's  lass  has  waiting  for  me  up  in  Skye." 

Sir  Jasper,  by  and  by,  rode  back  in  search  of  his  own 
company  of  horse,  and  his  thoughts  ran  hither  and  thither. 
This  Highlander,  with  the  eyes  and  the  sinewy,  lean  shoul- 
ders that  any  man  or  woman  might  approve,  this  passion- 
ate and  simple  child  who  went  down  the  highway  hugging 
his  mirror  because  it  brought  Skye  and  the  wooingtide  to 


THE  ROAD  TO  THE  THRONE  135 

mind — he  was  no  more  to  these  Midlands  than  a  savage  from 
the  northern  wilds.  "  They  feed  on  English  babies  " — the 
lie  set  abroad  by  agents  of  a  king  who  doubted  his  own  cause, 
the  lie  repeated  by  a  lazy,  unkempt  woman  at  the  village 
ford,  was  chilling  Sir  Jasper  now,  though  not  long  ago  he 
had  chidden  the  Prince  for  the  same  fault.  It  was  in  the 
breed  of  him  to  hate  a  lie  at  sight  as  healthy  men  loathe  ver- 
min. And  yet  they  were  powerless  to  meet  this  stealthy  mode 
of  warfare,  because  the  Prince's  men,  with  all  their  faults, 
were  accustomed  only  to  the  open  fight  and  honest  tactics. 

Then,  little  by  little,  Sir  Jasper  sought  for  the  cause  of  all 
this  unrest  and  unhappiness  that  was  dogging  the  steps  of  an 
army  that  had  fought  Prestonpans,  that  had  taken  Carlisle, 
that  had  marched  through  half  England  with  a  security  which 
in  itself  was  triumph.  They  were  heading  straight  for  Lon- 
don. The  men,  undaunted  by  forced  marches,  were  in  keen 
fighting  temper,  asking  constantly  for  the  enemy  to  show 
himself.  Fortune  was  with  them ;  the  glow  of  old  allegiance 
was  with  them.  Each  league  they  covered  was  so  much  added 
proof  to  the  waverers  that  they  followed  a  winning  cause. 
And  yet  somehow  a  chill  was  settling  on  them  all,  a  cold, 
intangible  distrust.  Sir  Jasper  felt  it  against  his  will.  The 
Prince  was  feeling  it. 

Sir  Jasper  had  set  out  on  this  enterprise  with  a  single  aim ; 
but  already  his  view  of  it  was  muddied  a  little  by  the  politics, 
the  jealousies,  the  daily  friction  that  creep  into  the  conduct 
of  all  human  ventures.  He  could  not  stand  far  off,  as  yet, 
from  the  bigness  and  simplicity  of  the  dreams  he  had  nursed 
at  Windyhough.  Up  yonder  on  the  moors,  as  he  mapped 
out  the  campaign,  it  had  been  a  gallop  against  odds,  a  quick 
battle,  death  on  the  field,  or  a  ride  into  London  to  see  the 
Stuart  crowned  with  fitting  pomp  and  thanksgiving.  And 
instead,  there  had  been  these  days  and  days  of  marching  at 
a  foot  pace,  without  a  chance  skirmish  to  enliven  them — days 
spent  in  ploughing  through  roads  fetlock-deep  in  mud,  with  the 
east  wind  harrying  them  like  a  scolding  tongue,  days  spent  in 


1S6  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

watching  the  leaders  of  the  Highland  clans  drifting  each  day 
nearer  to  the  whirlpool  of  unrest  that  revolved  about  Lord 
Murray. 

The  men  who  passed  Sir  Jasper,  as  he  rode  back  to  join  his 
company,  were  awed  by  the  sheer  fury  in  his  face.  He  did 
not  see  them.  Kilted  men  on  foot  met  him,  and  Lowlanders 
in  tattered  breeks,  riding  nags  as  rough-coated  as  themselves. 
And  some  from  the  pick  of  Scotland's  chivalry  glanced  at  him 
for  a  nod  of  recognition,  and  saw  him  looking  straight  ahead 
with  murder  in  his  eyes. 

Sir  Jasper  was  in  the  mood  that,  now  and  then,  had  fright- 
ened his  wife  up  yonder  on  the  moors  of  Lancashire.  He 
had  kept  the  Faith.  He  had  given  up  wife  and  bairns  and 
lands  if  things  chanced  to  go  astray.  And  there  was  one  man 
in  this  Rising  who  was  the  traitor  in  their  midst.  Scholarly, 
yet  simple  in  his  piety,  Sir  Jasper  was  in  the  thick  of  that 
stormy  mood  which  hillmen  know — a  mood  pitiless  and  keen 
as  the  winds  bred  in  the  hollows  of  the  wintry  moor,  a  mood 
that  goes  deeper  than  training,  and  touches,  maybe,  the  bed- 
rock of  those  stormy  passions  known  to  the  forefathers  of 
the  race  when  all  the  heath  was  lit  with  feuds. 

It  was  now  that  good  luck  found  Sir  Jasper.  There  was 
an  empty  stretch  of  road  in  front  of  him.  He  was  alone 
with  the  black  mood  that  he  hated — the  mood  he  could  not 
kill ;  and  the  bitter  wind  was  finding  out  the  weak  places  in 
a  body  not  too  young.  And  then  round  the  bend  of  the  high- 
way rode  Lord  Murray;  and  Sir  Jasper  felt  a  little  stir  of 
gladness,  as  if  the  wind  had  shifted  to  a  warmer  quarter. 

Murray  was  unaccompanied,  save  for  his  aide-de-camp — a 
careless,  pleasant- faced  youth  of  twenty,  Johnstone  by  name, 
who  was  destined  afterwards  to  write  a  diverting  and  boy- 
ishly inaccurate  account  of  a  campaign  whose  shallows  only, 
not  its  depths,  were  known  to  him. 

"  Of  all  men,  I've  hoped  most  to  meet  you,  my  lord  Mur- 
ray," said  Sir  Jasper,  drawing  rein.  "  Your  friend  can  ride 
apart ;  I've  much  to  say  to  you." 


THE  ROAD  TO  THE  THRONE  137 

Murray,  too,  drew  rein,  glanced  hard  and  uncivilly  at  Sir 
Jasper,  and  turned  with  a  smile  to  his  aide-de-camp.  "The 
Lancashire  manner  is  curt,  Mr.  Johnstone,"  he  said.  "  What 
is  this  gentleman's  name  again?  He  joined  us  at  Langton,  I 
remember,  and  his  Highness  was  pleased  to  overdo  the 
warmth  of  his  greeting.  It  is  a  way  the  Prince  has,  and  it 
answers  well  enough  with  the  women,  to  be  sure." 

"  My  name  is  Jasper  Royd,"  broke  in  the  other,  his  temper 
at  a  smooth  white  heat,  "  and  it  is  entirely  at  your  service 
after  this  campaign  is  ended.  I  permit  no  man  to  sneer  at 
his  Highness,  and  you'll  give  me  satisfaction  later." 

Lord  Murray  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  smiled  again  behind 
his  hand  at  Johnstone.  "  There's  something — what  shall  I 
say,  sir? — something  old-fashioned  in  your  loyalty,  though  it 
sits  well  enough  on  you,  if  'twere  a  play  we  acted." 

"  My  loyalty  is — just  loyalty.  There's  no  change  of  fashion 
can  alter  the  clean  faith  of  a  man." 

"  Your  pardon,  but  was  this  all  you  had  to  say  to  me  ?  The 
wind  is  shrewd,  Sir  Jasper,  and  we  can  discuss  loyalty — and 
punctilio  and  the  duel  you  are  eager  for — when  we  next  find 
an  inn  to  shelter  us." 

Murray's  harsh,  narrow  egotism  had  seldom  shown  to 
worse  advantage  than  now.  Since  first  Sir  Jasper  rode  into 
Langton  Street  with  the  big  air  about  him  that  simple-minded 
gentlemen  are  apt  to  carry,  since  Murray  had  seen  the 
Prince's  welcome,  his  jealousy  had  taken  fire.  It  had  slum- 
bered during  the  last  days  of  hardship,  but  this  meeting  on 
the  road  had  quickened  it. 

"  I  had  more  to  say,  much  more,"  Sir  Jasper  answered, 
quiet  and  downright.  "  Again  I  ask  you  to  bid  Mr.  John- 
stone  ride  behind." 

"  No,  by  your  leave ;  he  has  my  full  confidence.  You 
may  speak  your  mind  at  once;  but  be  speedy,  for  I  would 
remind  you  that  this  is  not  midsummer." 

Young  Johnstone  laughed,  as  youth  will  at  unlikely  times; 
and  the  laugh  added  a  fine  edge  to  Sir  Jasper's  temper. 


138  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  Then,  as  you'll  have  it  so,  Mr,  Johnstone  shall  be  a 
listener.  It  is  of  this  Rising  I  mean  to  speak — and  of  your 
share  in  it.  You  are  young,  Lord  Murray,  and  I  am  getting 
old.  You're  riding  to  the  warfare  you  learned  in  set  battles 
overseas,  but  we — the  Prince,  God  bless  him!  and  the  High- 
landers and  my  good  lads  from  Lancashire — are  out  on  a 
wider  road." 

"You  will  explain?"  drawled  Murray. 

"  D'ye  think  five  thousand  of  us,  ill-armed,  can  win  to 
London  by  rules  of  war  and  maps  and  compasses  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  think  from  the  first  we  had  a  chance  of  reach- 
ing London,"  snapped  the  other. 

"  Yes,"  put  in  Sir  Jasper  adroitly.  "  We  knew  as  much. 
You  said,  before  Annan  was  reached,  that  we'd  no  chance 
of  getting  beyond  Carlisle." 

"  Who  told,  you  that  ? "  said  Murray,  flurried  and  un- 
guarded. 

"  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse,  who  never  lies,  my  lord.  Well, 
we're  here  in  Staffordshire,  and  the  London  road  still  open 
to  us ;  and  your  prophecy,  somehow,  has  miscarried." 

Murray  grew  fidgety.  Hot  temper  he  knew,  and  suavity 
he  knew,  but  not  this  subtle  mixture  of  the  two.  "  Thank 
our  good  luck  for  that.  They  say  Heaven  guards  all  fools." 

"  But  more  especially  all  true  believers.  That  is  my 
point.  We're  adventurers,  Lord  Murray,  not  seasoned  troops. 
We  ride  by  faith,  we  ride  for  love  of  the  Prince,  of  what 
he  stands  for — and  we  have  come  through  odds  that  cautious 
generals  would  shirk — but  we  are  here,  in  Staffordshire,  and 
the  London  road,  I  say,  is  open  to  us." 

"  Well,  then,  it's  a  sermon,  after  all,  you  wish  to  preach. 
The  clergy,  my  good  Sir  Jasper,  are  wiser  than  you;  they 
preach  between  four  snug  walls  that  shut  off  this  cursed 
wind." 

"  Not  a  sermon,"  said  Sir  Jasper  doggedly.  "  I  preach 
common  sense,  to  one  whose  faith  is  dulled  by  tactics." 

Murray  lost  the  bullying  air  that  had  carried  him  fairly 


THE  ROAD  TO  THE  THRONE  139 

well  through  life.  He  felt  dwarfed,  ashamed,  by  some  quality 
in  Sir  Jasper  that  overrode  his  self-importance  and  tram- 
pled it  in  the  mire.  "  Sir  Jasper,"  he  asked  sullenly,  "  may 
I  ask  you  for  plain  speech?  What  is  your  quarrel  with 
me?" 

"  You  ask  for  plain  speech  ?  And  you'll  not  ask  Mr.  John- 
stone  to  ride  out  of  earshot?  No?  Then  he,  too,  shall  listen 
to  plain  speech." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Murray  wondered  at  the 
tense,  lean  carriage  of  this  Lancashire  squire,  whose  loyalty 
had  been  a  jest  among  the  cynics  of  the  army,  but  for  the 
others  a  steady  beacon-light.  He  wondered  more  that  Sir 
Jasper's  face,  grey  and  lined  a  while  since,  was  comely  now 
in  its  heat  and  youthfulness. 

"  I  say — deliberately,  my  lord — that  you're  the  Judas  in 
this  enterprise.  I'm  getting  old,  as  I  said,  and  I've  looked 
about  me  during  these  last  days,  and  I  speak  of  what  I  know." 
His  temper  cooled  suddenly,  but  not  his  purpose.  There  was 
no  pleasure  now  in  lashing  Murray — only  the  need  to  do  his 
duty,  as  if  he  were  bidden  to  shoot  a  deserter,  made  up  of 
the  same  human  clay  and  the  same  human  frailty  as  he  who 
pressed  the  trigger.  "  The  Highlanders — the  rank  and  file — 
you  cannot  reach.  But  their  leaders,  my  lord  Murray — you 
know  as  well  as  I  that  you're  at  work  each  day  undermining 
the  faith  of  better  men  and  cleaner-hearted  soldiers  than  your- 
self. It's  no  secret  that  you  wish  to  retreat " 

"  To  retreat,  the  better  to  spring  forward,"  put  in  Murray, 
with  half-hearted  effrontery. 

"  To  retreat,  I  said.  The  Prince  goes  forward  always.  It 
is  his  habit.  You've  won  many  of  the  Highland  chiefs  to 
your  side,  but  the  best  of  them  you  cannot  tempt." 

"  You  are  curiously  exact  in  your  knowledge  of  my  do- 
ings," sneered  Murray. 

"  I  made  it  my  business  since  the  day  I  first  set  eyes  on  you 
at  Langton.  That  is  neither  here  nor  there.  And  yet  there 
are  some  of  us  you  cannot  tempt.  The  Duke  of  Perth " 


140  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  Yes,  he,  too,  is  mediaeval,"  snarled  Murray.  "  You  and 
he  are  out  of  date,  Sir  Jasper,  and  I  tell  you  so." 

Again  young  Johnstone  laughed,  though  at  heart  his  sym- 
pathy and  liking  went  out  to  this  queer,  downright  squire 
from  Lancashire. 

"  Then  Lochiel,"  went  on  Sir  Jasper  buoyantly — "  is  he, 
too,  old  and  out  of  date?  Lochiel — you  know  how  the  very 
name  of  him  sings  music  to  the  Highlanders.  Lochiel — dear 
God!  the  tears  are  in  my  eyes;  he's  so  like  the  free  open 
moors  I've  left  behind  me." 

Murray's  thin  lips  came  together.  It  was  plain  now  where 
the  weakness  lay  in  a  face  that  otherwise  was  strong  and 
manly.  The  mouth  was  that  of  a  nagging  woman  querulous, 
undisciplined,  lined  with  bygone  sneers.  He  was  jealous  of 
the  Prince — jealous  of  this  fine,  upstanding  squire  who  spoke 
his  mind  with  disconcerting  openness;  but,  most  of  all,  he 
was  jealous  of  Lochiel — Lochiel,  the  whisper  of  whose  name 
set  fire  to  loyal  Highlandmen;  Lochiel,  who  was  gay  and 
courtly  and  a  pleasant  comrade;  Lochiel,  who  was  hard  as 
granite  when  men  touched  his  inner  faith;  he  was  all  that 
Lord  Murray  hated,  all  that  Murray  wished  to  be,  and  could 
not  be. 

"  Sir  Jasper,  you've  been  plain  of  speech,"  he  said,  with 
sudden  fury.  "  Our  quarrel  need  not  be  delayed.  I  ask  Mr. 
Johnstone  here  if  I  can  wait  to  give  you  satisfaction — until  " 
— again  the  smile  that  was  a  sneer — "  until  after  we  are  all 
beheaded  on  Tower  Hill." 

Sir  Jasper  glanced  up  and  down  the  road.  They  had  it 
to  themselves,  though  at  any  moment  a  company  might  ride 
into  view  along  the  straggling  route.  It  was  a  grave  breach 
of  discipline,  this  duel  in  the  midst  of  warfare;  and  yet, 
somehow,  he  found  it  welcome.  He  turned  to  the  aide-de- 
camp, glanced  quietly  at  him. 

"  Mr.  Johnstone,"  he  said,  "  you  cannot  be  friendly  to 
Lord  Murray  and  myself — it's  too  wide  a  gulf  for  young  legs 
to  jump— but  I  can  trust  you,  by  the  look  of  you,  to  see  fair 


THE  ROAD  TO  THE  THRONE  141 

play  between  us.  I  have  no  friend  at  hand,  and  it  happens 
that  this  business  must  be  settled  quickly." 

They  rode  apart  from  the  route,  into  a  little  wood  where 
sycamores  and  oaks  were  bending  to  the  keen,  whipping 
gale.  They  found  an  open  space,  and  got  from  horse,  and 
took  off  their  coats.  To  Lord  Murray,  a  good  swordsman, 
it  was  a  chance  to  put  out  of  action  one  who,  in  breed  and 
temper,  was  too  near  akin  to  the  Stuart  and  Lochiel.  To  Sir 
Jasper  it  was  a  call,  clear,  unhurried,  to  remove  a  traitor 
from  the  midst  of  honest  men. 

They  faced  each  other  in  the  little  glade.  Murray  was 
mathematical,  exact,  secure  in  his  gift  of  fence.  Sir  Jasper 
was  as  God  made  him — not  reckoning  up  the  odds,  but  trust- 
ing that  honesty  would  win  the  day.  Young  Johnstone 
watched ;  and,  despite  himself,  his  heart  ached  for  the  older 
man  who  pitted  Lancashire  swordcraft  against  Murray's  prac- 
tised steel. 

The  fight  was  quick  and  brief;  and  the  unexpected  hap- 
pened, as  it  had  done  throughout  this  march  of  faith  against 
surprising  odds.  Sir  Jasper  was  not  fighting  for  his  own 
hand,  but  for  the  Prince's ;  and  his  gift  of  fence — to  himself, 
who  knew  how  time  had  rusted  his  old  bones — was  a  thing 
magical,  as  if  a  score  of  years  or  so  had  been  lifted  from  his 
shoulders. 

At  the  end  of  it  he  got  clean  through  Murray's  guard ;  and 
it  was  now  that  the  duel  grew  dull  and  tragic  to  him,  robbed 
altogether  of  its  speed,  its  pleasant  fire.  He  had  fought  for 
this  one  moment;  he  had  his  chance  to  strike  wherever  he 
chose,  to  kill  or  lay  aside  the  worst  enemy  Prince  Charles  had 
found,  so  far,  in  England.  And  yet,  somehow,  his  temper 
was  chilled,  and  the  struggle  with  himself,  short  as  the  flicker 
of  an  eyelid,  seemed  long,  because  it  was  so  sharp  and  bitter. 
With  an  effort  that  was  palpable  to  young  Johnstone,  looking 
on,  he  drew  back  his  blade,  rested  its  point  in  the  sodden 
turf,  and  stood  looking  at  his  adversary. 

The  action  was  so  deliberate,  so  unexpected,  that  Murray 


142  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

let  his  own  point  fall ;  and  even  he  was  roused  for  the  moment 
from  his  harshness.  He  knew  that  this  Lancashire  squire, 
with  the  uncompromising  tongue  and  the  old-fashioned  view 
of  loyalty,  had  given  him  his  life  just  now — had  given  it  with 
some  sacrifice  of  inclination — knew  that,  in  this  wet  and  out- 
of-the-way  corner  of  the  world,  he  was  face  to  face  with  a 
knightliness  that  he  had  thought  dead  long  ago. 

And  then  Sir  Jasper  grew  ashamed,  in  some  queer  way,  of 
the  impulse  that  had  bidden  him  let  Murray  go  unscathed. 
He  sheathed  his  sword,  bowed  stiffly,  untethered  his  horse, 
and  got  to  saddle. 

"  I  give  you  good-day,  Lord  Murray,"  he  said  curtly. 
"  God  bring  you  nearer  to  the  Prince  in  days  to  come." 

Murray  watched  him  ride  through  the  glade,  out  toward 
the  open  road  where  wayfaring  loyalists  were  on  the  march. 
And  from  his  shame  and  trouble  a  quiet  understanding  grew. 
His  starved  soul  was  quickened.  A  gleam  from  the  bigger 
life  cut  across  his  precision,  his  self-importance,  his  gospel 
of  arithmetic. 

His  aide-de-camp  looked  on.  Johnstone  was  unused  to  the 
tumults  that  beset  older  heads;  and  he  had  made  a  hero  of 
this  man  who  had  been  defeated — a  little  more  than  defeated 
— at  his  own  game  of  swordcraft.  And  he  was  puzzled  be- 
cause Murray  did  not  curse  his  fortune,  or  bluster,  or  do 
anything  but  stand,  hilt  to  the  ground,  as  if  he  were  in  a 
dream. 

It  was  all  quick  in  the  doing.  Murray  got  himself  in 
hand,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  searched  for  his  snuff-box. 
"  This  is  all  very  dismaying,  Mr.  Johnstone,"  he  drawled.  "  I 
said  from  the  start  that  we  were  forgetting  every  rule  of 
warfare  in  this  mad  Rising.  And  yet — to  be  honest,  Sir 
Jasper  is  something  near  to  what  I  dreamed  of  before  the 
world  tired  me — he's  very  like  a  man,  Mr.  Johnstone.  And 
there  are  few  real  men  abroad  these  days." 

Sir  Jasper  himself,  as  he  rode  back  into  the  highway,  was 
in  a  sad  and  bitter  mood.  He  had  spoken  his  mind,  had 


THE  ROAD  TO  THE  THRONE  143 

fought  and  won  the  duel  he  had  welcomed,  and  reaction  was 
telling  heavily  on  him  just  now.  After  all,  he  had  done  more 
harm  than  good  by  this  meeting  with  Lord  Murray.  Private 
quarrels,  carried  as  far  as  this  had  been,  were  treasonable, 
because  they  weakened  all  the  discipline  and  speed  of  an 
attack  against  the  common  enemy.  Moreover,  a  man  of 
Murray's  temper  could  never  understand  how  serviceable  it 
is  to  admit  defeat,  and  forget  it,  and  go  forward  with  the 
business  of  the  day;  he  would  plant  the  grudge,  would  tend 
and  water  it,  till  it  grew  from  a  sapling  into  a  lusty,  evil 
tree. 

He  drew  rein  as  he  came  through  the  ill-found  bridle-track 
into  the  open  road.  Scattered  men,  on  horse  or  on  foot, 
passed  by  him;  for  the  fight  in  the  wood  had  been  brief,  and 
an  army  of  five  thousand  takes  long  to  straggle  over 
slushy,  narrow  highways.  And  then  Sir  Jasper's  face  grew 
cheery  on  the  sudden.  A  company,  in  close  and  decent  order, 
rode  into  view.  He  saw  .Lancashire  faces  once  again — his 
son's,  and  Squire  Demaine's,  and  Giles  the  bailiff's,  and  fifty 
others  that  he  knew  by  heart. 

They  met  him  at  the  turning  of  the  way,  drew  up,  saluted 
him.  And  Sir  Jasper  found  his  big,  spacious  air  again,  be- 
cause he  was  at  home  with  men  who  knew  his  record — with 
men  reared,  like  himself,  within  sight  of  Pendle's  round  and 
friendly  hill. 

"  We're  full  of  heart,  lads  from  Lancashire,"  he  said,  tak- 
ing the  salute  as  if  he  led  a  pleasant  partner  out  to  dance  the 
minuet.  "  By  gad !  we're  full  of  heart,  I  tell  you,"  he  broke 
off,  with  sharp  return  to  his  habit  of  command.  "  The  Lon- 
don road  is  open  to  the  Prince;  there  are  three  armies  chas- 
ing us,  so  I'm  told,  but  they  seem  to  shun  close  quarters. 
Lancashire  men,  I'm  old,  and  all  my  bones  are  aching — and 
yet  I'm  gay.  Giles,  your  face  is  sour  as  cream  in  thunder 
weather;  Maurice,  though  you're  my  son,  you  look  lean  and 
shrivelled,  as  if  the  wind  had  nipped  you;  is  it  only  the  old 
men  of  this  Rising  who  are  full  of  heart?" 


144  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  We're  spoiling  for  a  fight,  sir,"  said  Maurice,  with  a 
boy's  outspoken  fretfulness,  "  and  instead  there's  only  this 
marching  through  dull  roads,  and  no  hazards  to  meet  us " 

"  No  heroics,  you  mean,"  broke  in  Squire  Demaine,  who 
was  riding  close  beside  Maurice.  "  See  you,  my  lad,  this  is 
open  war,"  he  went  on — gruffly,  because  he,  too,  was  weary  of 
inaction.  "  And  war  is  not  the  thing  the  ballads  sing  about. 
It's  not  crammed  with  battles,  and  all  the  ladies  watching, 
ready  with  tears  and  lollipops  for  the  wounded;  it's  a  bleak 
affair  of  marching,  with  little  porridge  and  less  cream  to  it — 
until — until  you're  sick  from  hunger  and  fatigue.  And  then 
the  big  battle  comes — and  it  sorts  out  the  men  from  the  weak- 
lings. And  that  is  war,  I  tell  you." 

Sir  Jasper  reined  up  beside  him,  and  the  two  older  men 
rode  forward,  and  the  interrupted  march  moved  stolidly  again 
along  the  road  to  London — pad  of  hoofs,  slush  of  tired  foot- 
men through  the  sleety  mire,  whinnying  of  dispirited  horses 
and  murmur  of  round  Lancashire  oaths  from  the  farmers 
who  had  left  plough  and  fieldwork  behind  them,  as  they 
thought,  and  were  finding  the  like  dour  routine  on  this  high- 
way where  no  adventures  met  them. 

"  You  heartened  our  men  just  now — and,  gad !  they  needed 
it,"  said  Squire  Demaine,  as  they  trotted  out  of  earshot. 
"  But  you  carry  a  sad  face,  old  friend,  for  all  that.  What 
ails  you  ?  " 

"  Lord  Murray  ails  me,"  snapped  the  other.  "  He's  like 
a  pestilence  among  us." 

"  You're  precise.  He  is  a  pestilence.  If  we  could  per- 
suade Marshal  Wade — or  George — to  take  him  as  a  gift, 
why,  we'd  reach  London  sooner.  Give  away  a  bad  horse,  if 
you  can't  sell  him,  and  let  him  throw  the  other  man — there's 
wisdom  in  the  old  saws  yet." 

"  I'm  ashamed,  Demaine,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  turning  sud- 
denly. "  You  gave  Maurice  sound  advice  just  now,  when  he 
was  headstrong  and  asking  for  a  battle  as  children  cry  for 
toys.  And  yet  it  was  I  who  needed  your  reproof." 


THE  ROAD  TO  THE  THRONE  145 

And  then  he  told  of  his  meeting  with  Lord  Murray  on  the 
road,  of  the  fury  that  he  could  not  check,  of  the  duel  in  the 
wood.  His  tale  was  told  so  simply,  with  such  diffidence  and 
surety  that  he  had  been  in  the  wrong,  that  Squire  Demaine 
laughed  gently. 

"  There's  nothing  to  your  discredit,  surely,  in  all  this,"  he 
said — "  except  that  you  spared  the  Prince's  evil-wisher.  Gad ! 
I  wish  my  blade  had  been  as  near  Murray's  heart.  I " 

"  You  would  have  done  as  I  did.  We  know  each  other's 
weaknesses,  Demaine — that  is  why  our  friendship  goes  so 
deep,  may  be.  You'd  have  done  as  I  did.  We  relent — as 
soon  as  we  are  sure  that  we  have  proved  our  case — have 
proved  it  to  the  hilt." 

So  then  Squire  Demaine  blustered  a  little,  and  denied  the 
charge,  then  broke  into  a  laugh  that  was  heard  far  back  along 
the  line  of  march. 

"  Squire's  found  his  hunting-laugh  again,"  said  one  Lan- 
cashire yeoman  to  his  neighbour. 

"  Aye.  We  need  it,  lad,"  the  other  answered.  "  There's 
been  no  hunting  these  last  days." 

The  Squire  himself  rode  silently  beside  his  friend,  then 
turned  in  saddle.  "  Yes,  we  relent,"  he  said,  with  his  happy- 
go-lucky  air.  "  Is  that  our  weakness,  Royd — or  our 
strength  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know."  Sir  Jasper's  smile  was  grave  and  ques- 
tioning. "  The  devil's  sitting  on  my  shoulders  and  I  do  not 
know.  A  week  since  I'd  have  said  that  faith " 

"  Aye,  faith.  We  hold  it  fast — we  know  it  true — but,  to 
be  honest,  I've  lost  my  bearings.  I'd  have  dealt  more  gently 
with  Maurice  if  I'd  not  shared  his  own  longing  for  a  fight." 

"  Faith  is  a  practical  affair."  Sir  Jasper  was  cold  and  self- 
reliant  again,  as  when  he  had  fought  with  Murray  in  the 
wood.  "  When  the  road  is  at  its  worst,  and  sleet  blows  up 
from  the  east,  and  we  ask  only  to  creep  into  the  nearest  ditch, 
and  die  as  cowards  do — when  all  seems  lost.  Demaine — 
surely,  if  faith  means  anything  at  all,  it  means " 


146  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  You're  more  devout  than  I,"  snapped  the  Squire.  "  So 
is  the  Prince.  I  talked  with  him  yesterday.  He  was  wet  to 
the  skin,  and  had  just  given  his  last  dram  of  brandy  to  one 
Hector  MacLean  who  had  cramp  in  the  stomach — and  I  was 
hasty,  may  be,  as  I  always  am  when  I  see  royalty  of  any  sort 
go  beggared.  '  Your  Highness,'  I  said,  '  the  Blood  Royal 
should  receive,  not  give,  and  you  needed  that  last  dram,  by 
the  look  of  your  tired  face.'  And  what  did  he  answer,  think 
ye  ?  '  You've  an  odd  conception  of  royalty,  sir,'  said  the 
Prince,  his  eyes  hard  and  tender  both.  '  The  Blood  Royal 
— my  father's  and  mine — gives  till  it  can  give  no  more.  It 
lives,  or  it  dies — but  it  goes  giving  to  the  last  hour.'  He's  a 
bigger  man  than  I  am,  Royd." 

They  jogged  forward.  And  presently  Sir  Jasper  broke  the 
silence.  "  We  are  hurrying  to  dodge  two  armies,  and  we're 
succeeding;  would  God  they'd  both  find  us,  here  on  the  road, 
and  give  us  battle!  That  is  our  need.  One  battle  against 
odds — and  our  men  riding  free  and  keen — and  Murray  would 
find  his  answer.  I'd  rather  be  quit  of  him  that  way  than — 
than  by  striking  at  the  bared  breast  of  the  man." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  murmured  the  Squire,  seeing  how  hard 
Sir  Jasper  took  this  battle  in  the  wood.  "  Let  Murray  run 
his  neck  into  the  nearest  halter ;  he's  not  fair  game  for  honest 
gentlemen.  You  were  right.  And  yet — my  faith  runs  low, 
I  tell  you,  and  you  might  have  spared  a  better  man.  The 
mouth  of  him — I  can  see  it  now,  like  a  rat's,  or  a  scolding 
woman's — you've  a  tenderer  conscience  than  I." 

Into  the  middle  of  their  trouble  rode  Maurice,  tired  of  shep- 
herding men  who  blamed  him  because  he  found  no  battle 
for  them. 

"  I  was  sorry  that  Rupert  could  not  ride  with  us,"  he  said, 
challenging  Sir  Jasper's  glance. 

Sir  Jasper  winced,  for  his  heir  was  dear  to  him  beyond  the 
knowledge  of  men  who  have  never  bred  a  son  to  carry  on  the 
high  traditions  of  a  race.  "  If  pluck  could  have  brought  him, 
he'd  have  been  with  us,  Maurice,"  he  said  sharply. 


THE  ROAD  TO  THE  THRONE  147 

"  I  was  not  denying-  his  pluck,  sir ;  he  gave  me  a  taste  of 
it  that  day  he  fought  like  a  wild  cat  on  the  moor."  His  face 
flushed,  for  he  had  not  known,  until  the  separation  came, 
how  deep  his  love  went  for  his  brother.  The  novelty  and  up- 
roar of  the  march  had  stifled  his  heartache  for  a  day  or  two, 
but  since  then  he  had  missed  Rupert  at  every  turn.  "  It  was 
because  I — because  I  know  his  temper,  sir,"  he  went  on,  with 
a  diffidence  unlike  his  usual,  quick  self-reliance.  "  He'd  have 
been  all  for  high  faith,  and  a  battle  at  the  next  road-corner; 
and  these  days  of  trudging  through  the  sleet  would  have  mad- 
dened him.  I'm  glad  he  stayed  at  home.  He'd  have  picked 
a  quarrel  long  since  with  one  of  our  own  company,  just  to 
prove  his  faith." 

Squire  Demaine  glanced  dryly  at  Sir  Jasper.  "  The  young 
pup  and  the  old  pup,  Royd.  Maurice  here  has  better  judg- 
ment than  I  thought.  I  always  said  that  Rupert  was  true  to 
the  Royd  breed.  Your  own  encounter  in  the  wood  just 
now " 

"  Your  encounter,  sir  ?  "  broke  in  Maurice  eagerly.  "  Giles 
was  saying  to  me  just  now  that  he'd  rather  be  riding  on  his 
bailiff's  business  up  among  the  hills  than  be  following  this 
dog-trot  through  the  rain.  He  said — and  he  was  so  quiet 
that  I  knew  his  temper  was  red-raw — he  said  that  naught  was 
ever  like  to  happen  again,  so  far  as  he  could  see,  and  he  was 
longing  for  a  thunderstorm,  just  to  break  up  the  quietness, 
like." 

The  boy  was  so  apt  in  his  mimicry  of  Giles  that  Squire 
Demaine  gave  out  the  frank,  hearty  bellow  that  did  duty  for 
a  laugh.  "  We're  all  of  the  same  mind,  my  lad.  Thunder — 
or  a  straight,  soon  over  fight — clears  up  one's  troubles." 

"Your  encounter,  father?"  said  Maurice,  persistent  in  his 
curiosity.  "  Did  you  meet  a  spy  of  George's,  and  kill  him?" 

Sir  Jasper  looked  at  this  younger-born  of  his,  at  the  frank, 
open  face  and  sturdy  limbs.  And  then  he  thought,  with  that 
keen,  recurrent  stab  of  pain  that  had  been  bedfellow  to  him 
since  first  he  knew  his  heir  a  weakling,  of  Rupert,  left  up  at 


148  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

Windyhough  to  guard  a  house  that — so  far  as  he  could  see 
just  now — was  in  need  of  no  defence. 

"  It  was  not — not  just  a  spy  of  George's  I  met,"  he  said, 
with  a  grave  smile.  "  He  may  come  to  that  one  day.  And 
I  did  not  kill  him,  Maurice,  though  I  had  the  chance." 

"Why,  sir?"  said  Maurice,  downright  and  wondering. 

"  Why  ?    God  knows.     We'd  best  be  pushing  forward." 

At  Windyhough,  where  the  wind  had  piled  a  shroud  of 
snow  about  the  gables,  they  were  thinking,  all  this  time,  that 
those  who  had  ridden  out  were  fortunate.  As  day  by  day 
went  by,  and  Rupert  found  himself  constantly  alone  in  a 
house  where  only  women  and  old  men  were  left,  he  found  it 
harder  to  stay  at  home,  drilling  the  household  to  their  separate 
parts  in  an  attack  whose  likelihood  grew  more  and  more  re- 
mote. 

Rupert,  with  a  body  not  robust  and  a  twisted  ankle  that 
was  still  in  bandages,  was  holding  fast  to  his  allegiance.  His 
mother,  less  pampered  and  less  querulous,  grew  each  day  a 
more  sacred  trust.  Each  day,  as  she  watched  him  go  about  the 
house,  he  surprised  more  constantly  that  look  of  the  Madonna 
which  stood  out  against  the  background  of  her  pretty,  faded 
face.  He  had  something  to  defend  at  last,  something  that 
played  tender,  stifled  chords  about  that  keyboard  which  we 
call  the  soul.  He  was  alone  among  the  women  and  the  old 
men;  but  he  was  resolute. 

And  then  there  came  a  night  when  he  had  patrolled  the 
house,  had  looked  out  through  his  window,  before  getting  to 
bed,  for  a  glance  at  the  hilltops,  white  under  a  shrouded  moon. 
He  was  tired,  was  seeking  an  answer  to  his  faith.  And,  in- 
stead, a  darkness  came  about  him,  a  denial  of  all  he  had  hoped 
for,  prayed  and  striven  for.  Hope  went  by  him.  Trust  in 
God  grew  dim  and  shadowy.  There  was  no  help,  in  this 
world  or  another,  and  he  was  a  weak  fool,  as  he  had  always 
been,  drifting  down  the  path  of  the  east  wind. 

He  recalled,  with  pitiless  clearness,  how  he  had  played 
eavesdropper  before  the  Rising  men  rode  out,  had  heard  his 


THE  ROAD  TO  THE  THRONE  149 

father  say  that  no  attack  on  Windyhough  was  possible,  that 
the  guns  and  ammunition  were  nursery  toys  he  had  left  his 
heir  to  play  with  in  his  absence. 

Rupert — namesake  of  a  cavalier  whose  name  had  never 
stood  for  wisdom,  but  always  for  high  daring — stood  with 
bowed  shoulders,  unmanned  and  desolate.  He  did  not  know 
that  the  wise,  older  men  he  reverenced  were  compelled  to 
stand,  time  and  time,  as  he  was  doing,  with  black  night  and 
negation  at  their  elbow.  He  knew  only  that  it  was  cold  and 
dark,  with  no  help  at  hand.  It  is  moments  such  as  this  that 
divide  true  men  from  the  feeble-hearted;  and  Rupert  lifted 
his  head,  and,  though  he  only  half  believed  it,  he  told  himself 
that  dawn  would  follow  this  midwinter  night. 

And  that  night  he  slept  like  a  child,  and  dreamed  that  all 
was  well.  And  he  woke  the  next  day  to  find  Simon  Foster 
watching  by  his  bedside,  patient  and  trusty  as  the  dogs  whose 
instinct  is  toward  loyalty. 

"You've  slept,  maister!"  said  Simon.  "By  th'  Heart,  I 
never  saw  a  body  sleep  so  sound." 

"  We  must  patrol  the  house,  Simon.  The  attack  is  com- 
ing— and  we'll  not  be  late  for  it,  after  all  these  days  of 
waiting." 

"Who  says  the  attack  is  coming?"  growled  the  other. 

"  I  dreamed  it — the  clearest  dream  I  ever  had,  Simon." 

But  Simon  shook  his  head.    He  had  no  faith  in  dreams. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  STAY-AT-HOMES 

WINTER  is  not  'always  rough  on  the  high  moors  of  Lanca- 
shire. There  are  days  when  the  wind  creeps  into  hiding, 
and  the  sun  comes  up  into  a  sky  of  blue  and  saffron,  and 
the  thrush  begins  to  find  his  mating-note  before  its  time. 
The  gnats  steal  out  from  crannies  in  the  walls,  making  pre- 
tence of  a  morris-dance  along  the  slant  rays  of  the  sun;  and 
everywhere  there  is  a  pleasant  warmth  and  bustle,  as  if  faith 
in  this  far-off  summer,  after  all,  had  easily  survived  the  east 
wind's  spite. 

It  was  on  such  a  day — the  breeze  soft  from  the  west,  and 
Pendle  Hill  all  crimson  in  the  sunset — that  Rupert  limped 
out  from  Windyhough  on  the  crutch  that  Simon  Foster  had 
made  for  him.  He  had  gone  his  round  of  the  house — that 
empty  round  performed  for  duty's  sake  twice  every  day — and 
he  was  hungry  for  the  smell  of  the  open  country.  He  hobbled 
up  the  pastures,  as  far  as  the  rough  lands  where  the  moor 
and  the  intaken  fields  were  fighting  their  old,  unyielding 
battle — a  feud  as  old  as  the  day  when  the  first  heath-man 
drove  his  spade  into  the  heather  and  began  to  win  a  scanty 
living  from  the  wilderness  for  wife  and  bairns. 

Rupert,  the  dreamer,  who  had  stood  apart  from  life,  had 
always  found  his  sanctuary  here,  where  the  broken  lands  lay 
troubled,  like  himself,  between  the  desert  and  the  harvest. 
Instinct  had  led  him  here  to-night,  though  weakness  of  body, 
never  far  from  him,  was  trying  once  again  to  sap  his  courage. 

He  looked  across  the  moor,  strong  and  comely  in  its  win- 
ter nakedness.  He  watched  a  cock-grouse  whirr  across  the 
crimson  sun-rays.  And  then,  with  a  sense  of  thanksgiving 
and  security,  he  saw  the  round,  stalwart  bulk  of  Pendle  Hill. 

150 


THE  STAY-AT-HOMES  151 

There  is  something  about  Pendle — a  legacy  from  the  far-off 
fathers,  may  be — that  goes  deep  to  the  heart  of  Lancashire 
men.  Its  shape  is  not  to  be  mistaken.  It  stands  like  a 
rounded  watch-tower,  guarding  the  moors  where  freedom  and 
rough  weather  go  hand  in  hand.  It  has  seen  many  fights 
of  men — feuds,  and  single-handed  combats,  and  stealthy  am- 
bushes— and  has  come,  stalwart  and  upstanding,  through 
weather  that  would  have  daunted  meaner  souls.  It  has 
the  strong  man's  gift  of  helping  weaker  men  along  the 
gallant,  uphill  climb  that  stretches  from  the  cradle  to  the 
stars. 

Pendle  Hill,  big  above  the  wilderness  of  bog  and  heath, 
never  chatters  of  destiny,  never  tells  a  man  that  life  is  hard, 
that  he  had  best  be  done  with  it,  that  all  his  striving  has  been 
so  much  useless  labour.  Pendle,  the  fairest  citadel  of  Lan- 
cashire, has  won  through  too  many  generations  of  cold  and 
hardship  to  be  daunted  by  the  troubles  of  one  man's  life- 
time. Rugged,  round  to  the  wide,  wind-swept  skies,  old 
Pendle  keeps  the  faith,  and  will  not  yield. 

Rupert  had  yet  to  win  his  spurs,  he  thought.  And  yet, 
as  Pendle  Hill  viewed  the  matter,  he  had  won  them  long 
ago.  Day  by  day,  year  by  year,  through  his  unhappy  and 
disastrous  boyhood,  the  lad  had  come  to  the  windy  lands,  for 
strength  and  solace.  He  had  been  loyal  to  the  hills,  steadfast 
when  stronger  men  had  taken  their  ease.  And  to-night,  be- 
cause it  saw  a  soldier  in  the  making,  gruff  Pendle  sent  out 
a  welcome  to  Sir  Jasper's  heir. 

"  God  knows  me  for  a  fool,"  said  Rupert,  afraid  of  the  new 
message  that  had  reached  him. 

And  there  was  stillness,  while  the  sun's  red  died  behind 
the  moor.  No  voice  answered  Rupert's  challenge  to  the 
over-world ;  but,  for  all  that,  he  limped  down  to  Windyhough 
with  a  sense  that  all  the  birds  were  singing.  Through  the 
misery  and  darkness  of  these  days  he  was  reaching  out,  with 
stubborn  gallantry,  to  grasp  the  forward  hope.  The  forward 
hope!  He  had  lived  on  little  else  since  he  was  breeked. 


152  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

As  he  came  down  to  Windyhough,  he  met  Nance  and  old 
Simon  Foster  at  the  courtyard  gate;  Simon  was  carrying  a 
musket,  and  polishing  the  barrel  with  his  sleeve  as  he  hobbled 
at  the  girl's  side. 

"  I've  news  for  you,  Rupert ! "  she  said  gaily. 

"  (Jtt  the  Rising  ? "  He  was  eager,  possessed  of  the  one 
thought  only.  "  Is  trouble  nearing  Windyhough  ?  Nance, 
is  there  real  work  to  be  done  at  last  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  you  ask  too  much.  Nothing  ever  happens 
at  Windyhough;  nothing  will  ever  happen  again,  I  think. 
We're  derelict,  Rupert;  the  Highlandmen  are  playing  their 
Prince  into  his  kingdom  by  this  time,  and  we " — she  grew 
bitter,  petulant,  for  the  silence  and  the  waiting  were  sapping 
her  buoyant  health,  her  courage,  her  trust  in  high  endeavour 
— "  and  we  in  Lancashire  are  churning  our  butter  every  week, 
Rupert,  and  selling  cows  on  market  days,  and  dozing  by  the 
hearth.  /  am  ashamed." 

Simon  Foster  glanced  sharply  at  Rupert.  He  knew  the 
lad  through  and  through,  was  prepared  for  the  whiteness  of 
his  face,  the  withdrawal  as  if  a  friend  had  struck  him  wan- 
tonly. "  Miss  Nance,"  he  said  bluntly,  "  shame  is  for  folk 
that's  earned  it.  There's  three  of  us  here,  and  we'd  all  be 
marching  into  London,  if  only  it  could  have  happened  that 
way,  like." 

Nance  would  not  look  at  Rupert,  though  she  guessed  how 
she  had  wounded  him.  She  did  not  know  this  mood  that  had 
settled  on  her  since  coming  to  the  draughty,  loyal  house  of 
Windyhough.  The  long  inaction,  the  waiting  for  news  gath- 
ered from  gruff,  hard-ridden  messengers,  the  day-long  wish 
to  be  out  in  the  thick  of  battle,  had  troubled  her;  but  there 
was  a  deeper  trouble — a  trouble  that  was  half  delight,  a  tur- 
moil and  unrest  to  which  she  could  not  give  a  name.  And 
the  trouble  centred  round  Rupert.  She  liked  him  so  well, 
had  grown  up  with  his  queer,  dreamy  ways,  his  uncomplain- 
ing courage. 

She  had  laughed  at  him,  had  pitied  him;  but  now  she  was 


THE  STAY-AT-HOMES  153 

pitying-  herself.  If  only  he  would  remember  that  he  was  a 
man,  the  heir  to  a  fine,  loyal  record — if  only  he  would  clear 
the  cobwebs  from  his  eyes,  and  sit  a  horse  as  other  men  did, 
would  show  the  stuff  his  soul  was  made  of,  the  world  would 
understand  him  at  long  last. 

Nance  was  tired,  her  temper  out  of  hand.  "  Simon,  you 
can  go  indoors,"  she  said  dryly.  "  Since  you  did  not  join 
the  Rising — why,  Lady  Royd  has  work  for  you." 

She  did  not  know  what  she  needed,  or  what  ailed  her. 
And  she  and  Rupert  stood  in  the  courtyard  after  old  Simon 
had  gone  in,  fronting  each  other  like  wary  duellists. 

"  What  was  your  news  ?  "  asked  Rupert,  his  temper  brittle 
like  her  own. 

"  Oh,  we  set  up  a  target,  Simon  and  I ;  and  I  practised 
with  one  of  your  clumsy  muskets,  Rupert,  and  wished  that  I 
had  a  bow-and-arrow  in  my  hands  instead.  I  have  some  skill 
in  archery,  have  I  not  ?  " 

"  Yes.  You've  skill  in  all  things,  Nance.  There's  no  news 
in  that." 

"  And  I  aimed  very  wide  at  first,  till  I  turned  and  found 
Simon  smiling  as  if  he  were  watching  a  baby  at  its  play.  So 
then  I  kept  him  hard  at  work — loading,  and  priming,  and  the 
rest,  and  wasted  a  good  deal  of  your  ammunition,  Rupert — 
but  I  learned  to  hit  the  target." 

She  spoke  lightly,  hurriedly,  as  if  fearing  to  sound  the 
depths  of  this  trouble  that  had  come  between  Rupert  and 
herself. 

"Was  it  just  to  pass  the  time?"  he  asked  by  and  by. 
"You're  shut  in  here  and  restless,  I  know " 

"  It  was  more,  perhaps.  We  are  so  few,  and  I  said  just 
now  that  nothing  would  ever  happen  again  at  Windyhough — 
but  the  attack  may  come." 

Rupert  glanced  at  his  crutch.  He  was  sensitive,  from  long 
suffering,  to  the  least  hint  that  touched  his  personal  infirmi- 
ties. "And  you  could  not  trust  your  men  to  guard  you?" 
he  said  sharply.  "That  was  your  thought?" 


154  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  Oh,  Rupert,  no !  I'm  out  of  heart — I  did  not  mean  to 
hurt  you." 

"  You've  not  hurt  me,  Nance.  I — I  must  find  Simon  and 
go  the  round  of  the  house  with  him.  We  call  it  our  drill." 
He  turned  at  the  door,  glanced  at  her  with  the  smile  of  self- 
derision  that  she  knew.  "  Simon  is  right.  He  says  that,  if  a 
man  can't  go  soldiering,  the  next  best  thing  is  to  play  at  it, 
like  a  bairn  with  a  wooden  sword.  Good-night,  Nance.  I'm 
tired,  and  shall  get  to  bed  after  seeing  to  the  defences." 

Nance  heard  the  delicate  irony  as  he  spoke  of  the  defences, 
saw  him  limp  into  the  house.  And  some  new  feeling  came 
to  her.  It  was  not  pity;  it  was  a  strange,  fugitive  pride  in 
the  courage  that  could  keep  so  harassed  a  spirit  under  con- 
trol. She  had  been  harsh  and  bitter,  had  wounded  him  be- 
cause she  needed  any  outlet  from  these  pent-up  days  at 
Windyhough ;  and  he  had  gathered  his  little  strength  together, 
had  laughed  at  himself,  had  gone  to  the  routine  of  guarding 
a  house  that  did  not  need  defence. 

Nance  was  ashamed  to-night.  Her  reliance  and  high 
spirits  had  deserted  her;  and  for  that  reason  she  saw  nearer 
to  the  heart  of  life.  She  felt  that  a  great  gentleman,  marred 
in  the  making,  had  gone  into  this  house  of  fine  traditions. 
She  asked,  with  an  entreaty  passionate  and  wilful  as  her- 
self, why  Rupert  had  been  condemned  to  sit  at  home  among 
the  women,  when  so  little  more  was  needed  to  shape  him  to 
the  comely  likeness  of  a  man. 

And  then  she  thought  of  Will  Underwood,  who  had 
strength  and  grace  of  body,  remembered  with  obstinate  zeal 
her  faith  that  he  had  ridden  on  some  desperate  business  of 
the  Rising,  though  men  doubted  him.  And  she  was  in  the 
turmoil  of  first  love  again. 

The  next  day,  and  the  next,  she  missed  Rupert  from  the 
house.  He  would  go  his  rounds  punctiliously  after  break- 
fast, and  then  would  take  a  crust  and  a  piece  of  cheese  in  his 
pocket  and  limp  up  into  the  hills.  She  thought  that  he  was 
feeding  his  dreams,  as  of  old,  on  the  high  winds  and  the 


THE  STAY-AT-HOMES  155 

high  legends  of  the  heath ;  and  she  missed  him,  with  a  sense 
of  loneliness  that  would  not  let  her  rest. 

Simon  Foster,  too,  was  absent  these  days,  and  Lady  Royd 
grew  petulant.  Though  her  husband  was  like  to  lose  his 
head,  and  England  was  stirred  by  that  throb  of  coming  battle 
which  is  like  thunder-heat  before  the  rain  and  lightning  come, 
she  was  troubled  because  Simon  did  not  perform  his  indoor 
duties.  For  she,  who  had  little  guidance  of  herself,  and 
therefore  less  control  of  serving-folk,  was  exact  in  her  de- 
mand that  all  the  details  of  the  house  should  be  well-ordered. 

"  I  thought  Simon  at  least  tied  by  rheumatism  to  the 
house,"  she  wailed  to  Nance,  on  the  second  day  of  absence; 
"  but  he's  like  all  our  men — off  to  the  Rising,  or  off  to  the 
fields ;  any  excuse  will  serve,  it  seems,  when  women  feel  their 
indoor  loneliness." 

And  Nance,  though  her  impulse  was  to  laugh,  was  sub- 
dued by  those  blundering,  poignant  words,  "  their  indoor 
loneliness."  Nance  was  a  child  of  the  open  fields,  meeting 
all  chances  of  life  better  in  the  free  wind  than  in  the  stifled 
houses.  Not  until  her  coming  to  Windyhough  had  she  un- 
derstood the  heartache,  the  repression,  summed  up  by  "their 
indoor  loneliness."  A  fierce  resentment  took  hold  of  her. 

"  Men  have  all  the  pleasure,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  hard  voice. 
"  It  was  so  always." 

She  would  have  been  the  better  for  a  glimpse  of  the 
Prince's  tattered  army,  fighting  through  sleet  and  mud  and 
jealousy  for  the  privilege  of  setting  a  Stuart  on  the  throne. 
But  Nance  was  young  and  untried  yet,  and  thought  herself 
ill-used  because  she  had  a  roof  above  her. 

And  then  Rupert  came  in,  with  Simon  Foster  close  behind 
him. 

"  You've  been  at  the  ale-house,  Simon,"  said  Lady  Royd 
shrewishly. 

"  No,  by  your  leave.  I've  been  on  the  King's  business, 
and  other  needs  must  wait,  my  lady.  So  I  was  taught,  least- 
ways, when  I  was  a  bairn  at  my  father's  knee." 


136  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  What  is  the  mystery,  Rupert  ?  "  asked  Nance,  after  Simon 
had  grumbled  his  way  toward  the  servants'  quarters. 

"  Mystery  ?  None,  my  dear,  except  that  I'm  tired  to  death, 
and  have  the  round  of  the  house  to  go  before  I  get  to  bed." 

He  spoke  the  truth.  Mystery  there  was  none,  except  that 
out  of  his  great  love  for  her  he  was  learning  many  lessons. 
And  she  tempted  him,  meanwhile,  to  tell  her  what  this  busi- 
ness was  that  had  taken  Simon  and  himself  to  the  open  fields ; 
but  he  gave  no  answer. 

And  that  evening  passed,  as  many  another  had  done,  with 
a  monotony  that  seemed  to  tick  the  seconds  out,  deliberate  as 
the  eight-day  clock  in  the  hall — a  passionless,  grave  clock  that 
had  seen  many  generations  of  the  Royds  go  through  their 
hot  youth,  their  fiery  middle-age,  their  last  surrender — sur- 
render honourable,  upright,  staunch  in  the  last  hour,  to  that 
great  general,  Death,  who  has  taken  more  citadels  than  any 
human  hero  of  renown. 

The  eight-day  clock  knew  that  life  was  not  meant  to  be 
taken  at  the  gallop,  each  moment  packed  with  ambush,  high 
romance,  fine-spoken  wooing  that  could  not  outlast  the  honey- 
moon. It  knew  that  fine  deeds — big  moments  when  the 
heart  finds  room  to  know  itself — are  earned  by  steady  prepara- 
tion, ticked  out  by  the  slow-moving  seconds.  But  Nance 
had  all  this  to  learn  as  yet,  and  this  evening,  of  all  evenings 
she  had  spent  at  Windyhough,  seemed  the  longest  and  the 
dreariest.  And  my  lady's  little  spaniel — a  nervous,  unlicked 
lap-dog — annoyed  her  beyond  reason. 

Lady  Royd  was  full  of  dread  and  surmise.  First,  she 
heard  a  mouse  gnawing  at  the  wainscoting,  and  fell  into  a 
panic  obviously  real.  Then  a  farm-dog  began  to  yelp  and 
whimper  from  the  stables,  and  she  was  sure  it  foretold  dis- 
aster to  her  husband. 

"  It  was  so  foolish  of  him,"  she  said,  "  to  go  on  this  wild 
Rising.  He  had  all  to  keep  him  here — his  wife  and  his  two 
sons  and  the  house  he  loved,  and  the  hunting  in  the  winter. 
Why  did  he  leave  it  all?  He  had  all  to  keep  him,  Nance." 


THE  STAY-AT-HOMES  157 

Because  she  was  tired  and  heart-sick,  perhaps,  Nance  spoke 
with  a  wisdom  not  her  own ;  for  at  these  times  we  do  not  lash 
instinct  to  the  gallop,  but  let  it  carry  us  like  a  sure-footed 
horse.  "  Except  his  heart  It  was  his  heart  that  took  him 
south." 

"  But  his  heart  was  here,  my  girl,"  put  in  the  other,  with 
sudden  spirit.  She  had  been  moved  to  terror  by  the  sound 
of  a  mouse  in  the  wainscoting;  but  she  was  fierce  in  her  de- 
fence of  the  love  her  goodman  bore  her. 

"  No,"  said  Nance  gently,  as  if  she  persuaded  a  child  to 
learn  some  obvious  and  simple  lesson,  "  his  heart  could  not  be 
here  until  he  had  answered  the  call  of  honour." 

"  Oh,  spare  me !  "  sighed  the  other  languidly.  "  Honour  is 
so  pretty  a  thing — like  a  rapier,  or  a  Frenchman's  wit — when 
they  sing  of  it  in  ballads.  But  in  practice  it  is  like  getting  up 
at  sunrise  to  see  the  poet's  dawn — so  chilly  and  uncomfortable, 
Nance." 

"  What  else  ?  "  said  Nance,  her  head  thrown  up  with  a  sud- 
den, eager  gesture  that  was  vastly  like  her  father's.  "  Honour 
rusts,  my  lady,  if  it  stays  always  in  the  scabbard.  Discom- 
fort? I  think  honour — Sir  Jasper's  and  my  father's — feeds 
on  discomfort,  thrives  on  it " 

"  But  Sir  Jasper,  what  more  did  he  need  ?  He  can  find  no 
more  if  he  returns — no  more  than  he  left  behind  when  he  went 
on  this  wild-goose  chase.  I  shall  be  waiting  for  him — the  wife 
who  loves  him,  no  more,  no  less " 

"  Is  there  a  boundary-wall  round  love,  then  ?  "  asked  Nance, 
with  eyes  wide  open  and  astonished.  "  I'm  young  and  fanci- 
ful, perhaps.  I  thought  love  was  a  thing  that  found  wider 
fields  to  travel  every  hour;  that,  each  day  one's  man 
came  home  with  honour,  one  cared  for  him  ever  a  little 
the  more,  and  knighted  him  afresh.  For  it  is  knighthood, 
surely,  a  true  man  asks  always  from  the  woman  of  his 
choice." 

Lady  Royd  fingered  her  scent-bottle,  and  laughed  vaguely, 
enjoying  the  girl's  transparent  honesty.  "  It  all  has  a  roman- 


158  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

tic  sound,  Nance.  Did  you  learn  it  from  books,  as  poor 
Rupert  learned  his  soldiery  ?  " 

The  taunt  stung  Nance,  because  she  had  hoped,  with  odd 
persistency,  that  Rupert  would  come  in,  after  going  his  round 
of  the  house,  to  ask  her  to  sing  to  him.  And  he  had  not  come ; 
and  she  had  tender  songs  enough  in  readiness,  for  she  remem- 
bered how  wantonly  she  had  hurt  him  not  long  ago. 

"  Where  did  you  learn  it,  girl  ?  "  insisted  Lady  Royd,  with 
tired  irony.  "  I'm  past  the  age  of  glamour — and  half  regret 
it — and  you  may  recapture  for  me  all  the  fragment  silliness. 
Nance,  believe  me,  I  cannot  make  a  satisfying  meal  of  dew- 
drops.  I  must  be  getting  old,  for  I  grow  fonder  and  fonder 
of  my  cook,  who  sends  substantial  rations  from  the  kitchen." 

So  then  Nance,  hot-headed,  resentful,  not  guessing  that  she 
was  being  gently  baited  to  while  away  an  hour's  boredom  from 
her  companion — Nance  stood  to  her  little,  queenly  height. 
And  her  eyes  were  beautiful,  because  her  eagerness  shone 
through  them.  And  she  tapped  her  buckled  slipper  on  the 
beeswaxed  floor,  as  if  she  were  impatient  to  be  dancing  with 
true  men,  or  dying  with  them  along  the  road  that  Sir  Jasper 
and  his  friends  had  sought. 

"  I  learned  it — as  Rupert  learned  his  soldiery,  I  think — not 
from  books  at  all,  my  lady.  It  was  my  heart  taught  me,  or 
my  soul,  or  what  you  choose  to  name  that  something  which  is 
— is  bigger,  somehow,  than  one's  self.  Honour — I  cannot  tell 
you  the  keen,  sharp  strength,  the  sweetness  and  the  pity  the 
word  spells  for  me.  It  is  like  the  swords  my  father  is  so 
fond  of — bright  and  slim,  like  toys  to  look  at;  but  you  can 
bend  them  till  point  touches  hilt  and  yet  not  break  them.  And 
you  can  ride  out  and  cleave  a  way  with  these  same  words." 

Lady  Royd  was  no  cynic  now.  The  peril  and  discomfort 
of  the  times  had  been  opening  closed  windows  for  her,  as 
for  others  who  lived  near  this  wind-swept  heath.  By  stealth, 
and  fearing  much,  she  had  peered  out  through  these  unshut- 
tered casements;  and  Nance  was  speaking  outright  of  the 
fugitive,  dim  thoughts  that  she  herself  had  harboured. 


THE  STAY-AT-HOMES  159 

"Go,  my  dear,"  she  said  gently.  "You've  the  voice  you 
sing  with — the  voice  that  Rupert  praises.  Go,  sing  to  me 
again  of — of  love  and  honour,  child." 

Nance  flushed.  She  scarcely  knew  what  she  had  said.  "  I 
do  not  need,"  she  said,  with  instinctive  grace  and.  dignity. 
"  You  know  so  much  of  them,  and  I  so  little ;  and  I  am  sorry 
if — if  I  spoke  in  haste.  I  am  so  tired,  and  I  forget  the — the 
deference  owing  to  your  years." 

So  then,  because  they  stood  very  near  each  other  for  this 
moment,  and  because  she  feared  intimacy  just  yet  with  the 
simple,  happy  glimpse  of  life  that  Nance  had  shown  her,  Sir 
Jasper's  wife  drew  her  skirts  about  her  and  picked  up  the 
yapping,  pampered  thing  she  called  a  dog  and  kissed  its  nose. 
It  was  her  signal  for  good-night. 

"  A  woman  likes  deference,  my  dear,"  she  said  sharply, 
"  deference  of  all  kinds,  except  that  owing  to — to  advancing 
years.  You  sang  out  of  tune  there,  Nance.  Never  to  be 
made  love  to  again ;  never  again,  so  long  as  one's  little  world 
lasts,  to  catch  the  glance,  the  little  broken  word  of  tribute — 
things  that  do  not  wrong  one's  husband,  Nance,  but  add  a  spice 
to  the  workaday,  quiet  road  of  love  for  him;  they're  hard  to 
give  up,  my  dear." 

Nance  looked  at  her  with  frank  surprise.  She  was  strong 
and  untried  yet;  and  Lady  Royd  was  frail,  but  experienced 
so  far  as  indolence  allowed.  And  there  was  a  deep  gulf  be- 
tween them. 

"  I  will  take  my  candle  up,"  said  Nance  lamely. 

"  Yes,  and  sleep  well,  child.  Dream  of — oh,  of  love  and 
honour  and  the  foolish  rosemary  of  life.  And  come  sing  to 
me  to-morrow — of  the  things  you've  dreamed.  Perhaps  I 
spoke  at  random,  Nance.  I'm  widowed  of  my  husband;  and 
this  Rising  never  wore  a  lucky  face  to  me — and — my  temper 
is  not  gentle,  Nance,  I  know." 

That  night  there  were  few  who  slept  at  Windyhough.  Sir 
Jasper's  wife,  alone  with  the  wind  that  rattled  at  her  window, 
made  no  disguise  of  the  love  that  beat,  strong  and  trusty,  un- 


160  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

derneath  her  follies.  Despite  herself,  she,  had  come  out  at 
last  into  the  road  of  life — the  road  of  mire  and  jealousies  and 
tragedy,  lit  far  ahead  by  the  single  lamp  of  honour,  for  those 
whose  eyes  were  trained  to  see  it. 

"  I'm  not  worthy  of  him,"  she  moaned,  drawing  the  sleepy 
spaniel  toward  her.  "  My  husband  climbs  the  bigger  hills, 
while  I — am  weak,  as  Rupert  is." 

Nance,  too,  lay  awake.  She  was  busy  with  what  Lady  Royd 
had  named  the  rosemary  of  life.  All  her  instincts  rose  in  warm 
defence  of  that  view  of  honour  which  Sir  Jasper's  wife  had 
slighted.  And  there  were  men,  men  in  their  own  midst,  who 
could  love  in  the  old  knightly  way.  There  was  Will  Under- 
wood— and  so  she  lost  herself,  half  between  waking  and 
dreaming,  in  a  maze  of  high  perfection  that  she  reared  about 
his  person.  Of  a  truth  Wild  Will  was  in  danger,  had  he 
known  it.  He  had  pressed  his  suit  on  Nance,  had  urged  it, 
in  and  out  of  season,  during  the  months  that  preceded  this  up- 
set of  the  Rising.  He  had  captured  her  fancy  already,  and  her 
heart  might  follow  any  day;  but  he  did  not  guess  what  sim- 
plicity and  breadth  of  tenderness  she  would  bring  him,  what 
answering  devotion  she  would  ask.  Nance  had  the  double 
gift — she  had  the  woman's  instincts,  the  woman's  suppleness  of 
fancy,  but  she  had  been  reared  in  a  house  where  a  big,  down- 
right father  and  big,  uncompromising  brothers  had  trained  her 
to  the  man's  code  of  life.  She  would  never  come  to  the 
wooing  as  to  a  one-sided  bargain,  giving  all  meekly  and 
asking  nothing  in  return.  She  would  ask,  with  tenderest 
persistence,  that  her  man,  as  she  had  said  to  Lady  Royd, 
should  claim  knighthood  at  her  hands  once  every  while. 
Marriage,  to  her  unproved  heart,  was  a  thing  magical,  re- 
newing its  romance  each  day — but  renewing,  too,  that  every- 
day and  hard  endeavour  on  which  the  true  romance  is  founded. 

And  so  she  got  to  sleep  at  last,  and  woke  in  terror.  She 
had  dreamed  that  Will  Underwood,  engaged  in  a  single- 
handed  fight  against  a  company  of  the  Prince's  enemies,  lay 
wounded  sorely;  and  she  had  reached  out  hands,  impotent 


THE  STAY-AT-HOMES  161 

with  nightmare,  to  succour  him,  and  she  had  seen  him  fall. 

At  the  end  of  the  long,  draughty  corridor,  not  many  yards 
away  from  her,  Rupert  was  fighting  his  new  trouble.  He  and 
Simon  had  been  engaged  on  the  King's  business — or  the  pre- 
tence of  it — during  these  excursions  that  had  taken  them 
afield  for  two  days  past.  But  he  could  only  remember  now 
what  had  driven  him  into  endeavour — how  he  had  come  home 
to  find  Nance  flushed  and  eager,  Simon  carrying  a  couple 
of  muskets;  and  how  she  had  told  him,  in  plain  words,  that 
women  must  needs  take  up  soldiery,  because  the  men  about 
the  house  were  so  infirm. 

Since  his  soul  was  launched  into  the  open  sea  of  life,  Ru- 
pert had  known  many  a  Gethsemane,  but  the  pain  had  never 
been  so  keen  as  now.  His  love  for  Nance  was  of  the  kind  she 
claimed,  but  his  power  to  do  high  deeds  lagged  far  behind 
the  will  to  be  a  conqueror.  And  Nance,  who  had  always 
brought  a  sense  of  well-being  and  of  inspiration  to  him,  had 
wounded  him — mortally,  he  thought.  Sir  Jasper  had  bidden 
him  guard  the  house,  and  he  had  overheard  his  father  say 
that  the  defence  was  a  toy  he  left  his  heir  to  play  with;  and 
the  bitterness  of  that  was  past,  not  without  hardship  and  a 
struggle  that,  fought  out  in  loneliness,  was  fine  as  a  battle 
against  heavy  odds.  That  was  past,  but  Nance's  taunt  was 
with  him  still,  a  sting  that  banished  sleep  and  poisoned  all 
his  outlook  on  the  hills  where  Faith,  crowned  and  a  strong 
monarch,  looks  down  to  see  into  the  hearts  of  men  and 
choose  her  soldiers. 

Old  Simon  Foster,  for  his  part,  had  not  slept  well  to-night. 
As  he  put  it  to  himself,  he  "  was  never  one  to  miss  sleep  or 
victuals,  come  peace  or  earthquakes  " ;  but  to-night  he  could 
not  rest.  He  was  with  the  master,  fighting  somewhere  near 
to  that  London  which  was  a  far-off  land  to  him,  unknown 
and  perilous,  as  if  wide  seas  divided  it  from  Lancashire.  And 
he  was  itching  to  be  out  of  a  house  where  the  mistress  could 
still  be  anxious  lest  her  spaniel  missed  his  proper  meals, 
where,  to  his  fancy,  women  crowded  all  the  passages  and 


162  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

hindered  him  at  every  turn.  Simon  was  twisted  out  of  shape 
by  exposure  and  harsh,  rheumatic  pains,  but  he  was  sick  to 
be  out  again  with  the  wind  and  the  weather  that  had  crippled 
him. 

Simon  Foster,  too  infirm  to  go  with  his  master  to  the 
wars,  was  ill-tempered  these  days,  as  a  grey  old  hound  is 
when  he  sees  the  whelps  of  his  own  fathering  go  out  to 
hunting  while  he  is  left  at  home.  He  was  in  and  out  of  the 
house,  till  the  women-servants  grew  tired  of  his  grim, 
weather-beaten  face.  Only  Martha  put  in  a  good  word  for 
him — Martha  who,  at  five-and-thirty,  had  not  found  a  mate, 
though  she  would  have  made  a  good  wife  to  any  man.  Simon 
was  barely  turned  fifty,  she  said,  and  was  hale  enough  "  if 
rheumatiz  would  only  let  him  bide  in  peace."  And  when  a 
prim  maid-of-all-work  had  suggested  that  bent  legs  tempted 
no  maid's  fancy,  Martha  had  answered  hotly  that  the  shape 
of  a  man's  heart  mattered  more  than  any  casual  infirmity 
attaching  to  his  legs. 

He  got  up  this  morning,  two  hours  before  the  wintry 
dawn  came  red  and  buoyant  over  Pendle  Hill,  for  he  could 
not  rest  indoors.  He  went  to  the  stables,  his  lantern  swing- 
ing crazily  in  his  gnarled  hands,  and  roused  the  horses  from 
the  slumber  that  is  never  sleep,  because  men  ask  so  much 
of  them  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night,  and  patted  them,  as 
a  father  touches  his  bairns — gently,  with  a  sort  of  benedic- 
tion. For  the  smell  of  a  horse  to  Simon  was  vastly  com- 
forting. 

He  came  to  an  old,  fiddle-headed  nag  that  had  been  a  pen- 
sioner at  Windyhough  these  many  years,  and  stayed  and 
chatted  with  him  with  the  ease  that  comes  of  long  comrade- 
ship. 

"  We're  in  the  same  plight,  lad,"  he  growled — "  old,  and 
left  at  home,  the  two  of  us.  Ay,  we're  thrown  on  the  lum- 
ber-heap, I  reckon." 

He  went  out  by  and  by ;  and  his  face  cleared  suddenly  like 
wintry  sunlight  creeping  over  a  grey  stubble-field,  as  he  saw 


THE  STAY-AT-HOMES  163 

Martha  cross  from  the  mistals  with  a  milking-pail  over  each 
well-rounded  arm.  And,  because  there  seemed  little  else  to 
to,  he  stopped  to  praise  the  trim  shape  of  her. 

"  And  your  cheeks,  Martha,"  he  added,  after  a  pause — 
"  there's  some  warm  wind  been  at  'em,  or  they'd  never  look 
so  bonnie." 

"  Winds  blow  cold  up  hereabout,"  said  Martha  demurely, 
setting  down  her  pails.  "  And  my  cheeks  are  my  own,  Simon 
Foster,  by  your  leave." 

Simon  had  known  this  game  of  give-and-take  with  a  lass 
in  the  days  before  he  grew  harder  and  more  keen  on  battle. 
He  returned  now  with  ease  to  habits  forsworn  until  the 
Rising  left  him  derelict  among  the  women. 

"  Nay,  but  they're  not,  as  the  bee  said  to  the  clover." 

"  For  shame,  Simon — and  at  your  age,  too !  " 

"At  my  age!  I'd  teach  ye  I'm  young  if  rheumatiz  was 
not  like  a  hive  o'  bees  about  me." 

She  twisted  a  corner  of  her  apron,  half  hid  her  face  with 
it ;  and  Simon  admitted  to  himself  that  the  brown  eyes  looking 
into  his  "  might  be  tempting,  like,  to  a  younger  lad  than  me." 

"  At  my  age  a  man's  just  beginning  to  know  women,"  he 
said  persuasively.  "  It  takes  a  long  'prenticeship,  Martha. 
You  can  learn  to  break  in  a  horse,  or  do  smithy  work,  or 
aught  useful  like,  in  a  lile  few  years.  But  to  learn  the  way 
of  a  woman — durned  if  it  isn't  a  long  job  and  a  tough  job, 
Martha." 

"  We're  very  simple,  if  you  men  weren't  blind  as  bats  at 
midday." 

"  Oh,  ay ;  you're  simple ! "  put  in  Simon,  with  a  quiet 
chuckle.  "  Simple  as  driving  sows  to  market." 

So  then  Martha  put  a  hand  to  each  of  her  milking-pails. 
"  I'd  best  be  getting  on  with  my  work.  If  you're  likening 
me  to  a  sow " 

"There,  there!  It  wasn't  you  lass;  it  was  women  not 
just  so  bonnie — the  most  part  o'  women,  I  mean." 

Martha  lingered.     The  deft  flattery  had  pleased  her,  and 


164  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

she  was  willing  to  surrender  any  casual  defence  of  her  own 
sex.  "  Well,  the  most  part  o'  women,  Simon,  they're  feather- 
witted  maybe.  I'll  own  as  much." 

"  And  like  sows,"  went  on  the  other,  with  patient  explana- 
tion of  his  theme.  "  A  man  'chooses  his  straight  road  and 
sticks  to  it,  but  a  sow,  when  you  want  to  get  her  Lunnon 
way,  why,  you've  just  to  twist  her  by  the  tail,  backward  fore- 
most, and  pretend  you  want  her  to  head  straight  for  Scot- 
land." 

They  eyed  each  other  with  a  large,  impassive  silence. 
There  was  plenty  of  leisure  these  days  at  Windyhough,  too 
much  of  it;  and  Simon  found  it  pleasant  to  watch  Martha's 
wholesome,  wind-sweet  face,  to  hear  the  voice  that  seemed 
made  for  singing  to  the  kine  while  she  sat  at  the  milking- 
pail.  And  Martha,  for  her  part,  had  never  known  a  wooing, 
and  the  prime  hunger  of  her  life  still  went  unsatisfied. 

"  Human  nature — it's  a  queer  matter,"  said  Simon  by  and 
by. 

"And  there's  a  deal  of  it  about,"  sighed  Martha.  "Hu- 
man nature — soon  as  ever  a  body  can  get  away  from  moil 
and  toil  and  begin  to  think,  like — why,  it's  just  made  up  o' 
things  we  haven't  got,  Simon.  And  if  we'd  got  them  we 
shouldn't  care  so  much  for  'em,  and  so  it's  all  a  round  o' 
foolishness,  like  a  donkey  treading  at  the  mill-wheel." 

A  tear  fell  down  on  to  Martha's  hand,  and,  because  the 
grief  was  come  by  honestly,  Simon  felt  an  odd  impulse  stirring 
him.  "  Martha,  my  lass,  I  wish  I  was  a  good  twenty  years 
younger.  If  I  were  forty,  now,  and  you " 

"  I'm  nearing  forty,  Simon.  We'll  not  talk  of  ages,  by 
your  leave." 

Simon  walked  up  and  down  the  yard,  in  a  mood  that  was 
half  between  panic  and  something  worthier.  Then  he  came 
to  Martha's  side.  "  I've  a  mind  to  kiss  you,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  I'm  busy,"  said  Martha ;  "  but  I  might  happen  spare 
time." 

And   so  they   plighted   troth.     And    Simon,   when   at  last 


THE  STAY-AT-HOMES  165 

he  went  indoors  to  get  about  the  duties  Lady  Royd  found  for 
him,  was  astonished  that  he  had  no  qualms.  He  had  given 
his  promise,  and  knew  that,  as  a  man  of  his  word,  he  would 
keep  it.  All  old  instincts  whispered  that  he  had  been  "  varry 
rash  to  tie  himself  in  a  halter  in  that  fool's  fashion  " ;  and  yet 
he  felt  only  like  a  lad  who  goes  whistling  to  help  his  lass 
bring  in  the  kine  to  byre. 

As  he  reached  the  house,  Nance,  in  her  riding-habit, 
stepped  out  into  the  courtyard.  Tired  of  her  restless  dreams, 
weary  to  death  of  the  inaction  and  misery  at  Windyhough, 
she  had  stolen  out  of  the  house  like  a  thief,  afraid  lest  Lady 
Royd  should  need  her  before  she  made  good  her  escape.  She 
flushed  guiltily  even  at  this  meeting  with  Simon,  as  if  he  had 
detected  her  in  wrong-doing,  though  her  longing  for  a  gallop 
was  innocent  enough. 

"  You're  for  riding  on  horseback,  Miss  Nance  ?  "  he  asked, 
by  way  of  giving  her  good-day. 

"  Yes,  Simon.  I  shall  die  if  I  spend  another  day  indoors. 
It  is  like  being  wrapped  in  cotton-wool." 

"Well,  now,  you're  right!  I've  just  been  to  the  stables 
myself,"  he  added  dryly,  "  and  you've  the  pick  of  three  rare 
stay-at-homes  to  choose  from.  One's  broken-winded,  and 
one's  spavined,  and  t'other's  lame  in  the  off  hind-leg. 
There's  a  fine  choice  for  you ! " 

"  Which  of  the  three  shall  I  choose?"  laughed  Nance. 

"  Oh,  I'd  take  the  broken-winded  one,  with  the  head  like 
Timothy  Wade's  bass-viol  that  he  plays  i'  church.  He's  a  lot 
o'  fire  in  him  yet — if  you  don't  mind  him  roaring  like  a 
half-gale  under  you.  I  was  talking  to  him  just  now — telling 
him  the  oldsters  had  as  much  pluck  in  'em  as  the  youngsters. 
It  was  a  shame,  I  said,  to  leave  such  spirited  folk  as  him  and 
me  behind." 

Nance  gave  him  a  friendly  smile — he  had  always  been  a 
favourite  of  hers,  by  force  of  his  tough,  homespun  strength 
and  honesty — and  crossed  the  yard.  The  stablemen  and 
grooms  were  off  with  Sir  Jasper  to  the  wars — all  save  two 


166  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

who  were  past  seventy,  and  were  warming  themselves  in- 
doors before  facing  the  nipping  wind.  She  found  the  three 
horses  left,  like  the  stablemen,  because  of  age  and  infirmity, 
and  helped  Simon,  with  a  quickness  she  had  learned  in  child- 
hood, to  saddle  the  fiddle-headed  beast  that  he  had  recom- 
mended. 

The  beast  had  been  eating  his  head  off,  and  was  almost 
youthful  in  caprice  and  eagerness  as  Nance  rode  him  up 
into  the  moors.  He  had  watched  his  comrades  go  out  a 
week  ago — mettled  youngsters,  neighing  with  wide  nos- 
trils from  sheer  lust  of  adventure — and  he  had  been  left  to 
eat  more  corn  than  was  good  for  him,  left  to  think  back  along 
the  years  when  men  had  needed  him  to  carry  the  burden  of 
their  hopes. 

The  horse  knew,  perhaps,  that  Nance,  like  himself,  was 
seeking  respite  from  indolence  and  the  companionship  of 
ailing  folk.  He  carried  her  bravely,  and  disguised  from  her 
for  a  while,  with  a  certain  chivalry,  the  fact  that  he  was 
broken-winded.  When  they  came  to  the  moor,  however,  the 
smell  of  the  marshes  and  the  ling  seemed  to  get  to  his  head, 
like  too  much  wine ;  and  twice  he  all  but  unseated  Nance,  who 
was  thinking  of  Will  Underwood,  riding  south  like  her 
father  into  that  perilous  country  where  George  the  Second 
was  seated  on  a  stolen  throne. 

The  horse,  after  his  display  of  youthfulness,  was  content 
to  laze  up  and  down  the  sheep-tracks  of  the  heath ;  and  even 
Nance,  blind  as  she  was  by  habit  to  the  failings  of  her  com- 
rades, was  aware  that  he  was  roaring  now  like  a  half-gale 
from  the  north. 

Then  she  forgot  the  horse,  forgot  the  languid  mother,  the 
weakling  heir,  down  yonder  at  the  bleak  house  of  Windy- 
hough.  Her  thoughts  returned  to  her  father,  to  Sir  Jasper, 
to  gentle  and  simple  of  the  Lancashire  men  who  had  ridden 
out  against  long  odds.  Last  of  all,  her  maidenly  reserve 
broke  down,  and  she  knew  that  she  was  eager  for  Will  Un- 
derwood's safety.  She  saw  him  so  clearly — fearless,  a  keen 


THE  STAY-AT-HOMES  167 

rider  after  hounds,  a  man  who  sought  danger  and  coveted 
it.  Surely  he  was  made  for  such  reckless  battles  as  were 
coming.  Through  her  anxieties,  through  her  womanish  pic- 
turing of  the  wounds  and  sickness  that  were  lying  in  wait 
along  this  high-road  that  led  south  to  victory  and  the  Stuart, 
she  was  glad  that  "  Wild  Will "  would  need  her  prayers,  her 
trust  in  him. 

She  rode  slowly  up  by  way  of  Hangman's  Snout — a  bluff, 
round  hill  that  once  had  carried  a  gallows-tree.  Line  by 
swarthy  line  the  heath  widened  out  before  her  as  she  climbed. 
Crumpled  hillocks,  flat  wastes  of  peat,  acre  after  acre  of  dead 
bracken  intermixed  with  ling  and  benty  grasses,  swept  out 
and  up  to  the  sky  that  was  big  with  sunrise  and  with  storm. 
The  wind  blew  cold  and  shrill,  and  all  was  empty  loneliness; 
but  to  Nance  it  seemed  that  she  was  in  a  friendly  land,  where 
she  was  free  to  breathe.  They  would  not  let  her  fight  for 
the  true  cause;  she  had  no  skill  in  arms;  but  here,  on  the 
naked,  friendly  heath,  she  was  free  at  least  to  grasp  the  mean- 
ing of  that  stormy  hardship  which  her  folk  had  been  content 
to  undergo. 

There  was  Sir  Jasper — her  father,  and  many  who  had 
ridden  out  from  the  Loyal  Meet  at  Windyhough  under  her 
own  eyes — and  all  of  them  had  seemed  instinct  with  this 
large,  stormy  air  that  lay  above  the  moors.  She  was  girlish 
yet,  healthy  and  in  need  of  pleasure;  and  she  had  wondered, 
seeing  these  men  ride  from  Windyhough,  that  they  were  so 
grave  about  the  matter,  intent  and  quiet,  as  if  they  went  to 
kirk  instead  of  to  the  wars.  Like  Rupert,  she  had  pictured 
the  scene  in  more  vivid  colours,  had  been  impatient  that  no 
music  of  the  pipes,  no  rousing  cheers  had  gone  to  the  fare- 
well. She  had  longed  for  the  strong  lights  and  shades  of 
drama,  and  had  found  instead  a  workaday  company  of  gentle- 
men who  rode  about  their  business  and  made  no  boast  of  it. 

Here  on  the  wintry  heights  she  looked  life  in  the  face  to- 
day. These  men  who  had  ridden  out — Sir  Jasper  turning 
only  at  the  last  moment  to  kiss  his  wife,  though  he  was  deep 


168  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

in  love  with  her  at  the  end  of  many  years — had  been  rugged 
and  silent  as  the  hills  that  had  nursed  their  strength  and 
loyalty. 

Nance  was  not  herself  just  now.  The  superstitious  would 
have  said  that  she  was  "  seeing  far."  And  so  she  was — far 
as  the  red  sunrise-glow  that  reached  up  to  heaven.  She  and 
the  moors,  between  them,  struck  sparks  'of  vivid  faith  from 
the  winter's  barrenness  and  hardship.  She  was  sure  that 
summer  would  return,  fragrant  with  the  scent  of  Stuart 
roses. 

They  had  reached  the  top  of  Hangman's  Snout,  she  and 
her  broken-winded  horse.  And  suddenly  a  doubt  came 
blowing  down  the  breeze  to  her.  Will  Underwood  had  been 
absent  from  the  Loyal  Meet.  She  was  aware  that  men 
doubted  him  in  some  subtle  manner  that  did  not  need  words 
to  explain  its  meaning.  He  was  popular,  in  a  haphazard 
way,  with  his  own  kind;  but  always,  as  Nance  looked  back 
along  the  years,  there  was  a  suggestion  that  he  was  happier 
among  the  women,  because  he  had  the  gift  of  fooling  them. 
And  yet  men  admitted  that  he  was  a  good  companion  in  all 
field-sports — and  yet  again  Nance  remembered  how,  not  long 
ago,  she  had  overheard  her  father  talking  with  Oliphant  of 
Muirhouse,  when  they  did  not  guess  that  she  was  within 
earshot. 

"  Will  Underwood  will  join  us,"  Squire  Roger  had  said, 
with  the  testiness  of  a  man  who  only  half  believes  his  own 
words.  "  He  takes  any  fence  that  comes." 

"  Yes,"  Oliphant  had  broken  in,  with  the  dry  smile  of  one 
who  knew  his  world.  "  Yes,  he  can  gallop  well.  Can  he 
stand  a  siege,  though?" 

"A  siege?" 

"  There's  not  always  a  game  fox  in  front,  Squire — and 
hounds  running  with  a  fine,  full-throated  cry.  I'm  on  the 
other  side  o'  life  myself — the  long  night  rides,  when  a  man 
would  barter  all  for  one  clean  fight  in  open  daylight.  Under- 
wood will  not  find  this  march  such  a  gallop.  Horse  and  foot 


THE  STAY-AT-HOMES  169 

go  together,  and  the  roads  are  vile.  Can  he  last,  Squire, 
crawling  at  a  foot  pace?" 

Nance  remembered  the  very  tone  of  Oliphant's  voice — the 
dry,  sharp  challenge  in  it,  as  of  one  who  had  learned  to  sum 
up  a  man's  character  quickly.  It  was  her  own  judgment  of 
Will  Underwood,  though  warm  liking  for  him — his  bigness 
and  his  way  of  taking  fences — had  stifled  half  her  healthy 
common  sense. 

She  checked  her  horse,  looked  out  across  this  land  of  win- 
try nakedness.  It  was  here  on  the  uplands  that  she  had  let 
Underwood  steal  into  her  friendship,  here  that  her  quick 
need  for  romance  had  shaped  him  to  the  likeness  of  a  gentle- 
man— gallant,  debonair,  a  man  to  count  on  whether  peace  or 
war  were  in  the  doing. 

Something  of  the  wind's  free-roving  heedlessness  took  hold 
of  her.  She  was  free  to  choose  her  man,  free  to  be  loyal  to 
her  heart  and  let  her  judgment  go. 

She  looked  down  the  slope.  A  horseman  came  suddenly 
into  view,  riding  up  the  trough  of  the  hills.  She  checked  her 
horse,  with  a  sharp,  instinctive  cry.  The  superstitions  of  the 
moor,  bred  in  its  lonely  marshes  and  voiced  by  its  high  priests, 
the  curlews  and  the  plover,  crept  round  her  like  the  hill- 
mists  that  bewilder  human  judgment.  Will  Underwood  was 
away  with  the  Stuart,  riding  south  to  London  and  the  Res- 
toration ;  yet  he  was  coming  up  to  meet  her,  over  the  slopes 
which  they  had  crossed  together  on  many  a  hunting-day. 

She  watched  him  climb  the  slope.  There  was  no  mistak- 
ing the  dashing,  handsome  figure,  the  way  he  had  of  sitting 
a  horse ;  and  the  wide  emptiness  of  the  heath,  its  savage  loneli- 
ness, seemed  only  to  make  bigger  this  intruder  who  rode  up 
into  its  silence.  1 

The  old,  unconquerable  legends  of  the  moor  returned  to 
Nance.  Her  nurse  had  taught  her,  long  ago,  what  such 
apparitions  meant.  The  dead  were  allowed  to  return  to  those 
they  loved,  for  the  brief  hour  before  the  soul,  half  between 
heaven  and  earth,  took  its  last  departure. 


170  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

She  watched  the  horseman  ride  nearer,  nearer.  And  sud- 
denly she  broke  into  a  flood  of  tears.  He  had  died  in  battle — 
had  died  for  the  Stuart — and  was  riding  up,  a  ghostly  horse- 
man on  a  phantom  steed,  to  tell  her  of  it.  He  had  died  well 
—yes — but  she  would  miss  him  in  the  coming  years.  She 
would  miss  him 

Again  she  thought  of  Rupert.  All  his  life  the  Scholar 
had  been  struggling  against  impotence  and  misery.  He  had 
grown  used  to  it  by  habit;  and,  of  all  her  friends,  she  longed 
most  to  have  him  by  her  side,  because  he  would  understand  this 
trouble  that  unsteadied  her. 

Will  Underwood's  wraith  came  up  and  up  the  track.  She 
drooped  in  the  saddle  of  the  broken-winded  horse,  and  hid  her 
eyes,  and  waited  for  the  kiss,  cold  as  an  east  wind  over  the 
marshes,  that  would  tell  her  he  was  loyal  in  the  dying.  The 
tales  of  nursery  days  were  very  close  about  her  now,  and  she 
was  a  child  who  walked  in  the  unknown. 

"  Why,  Nance,  what  the  devil  is  amiss  ?  You're  crying  like 
a  burn  in  spate." 

Will's  voice  was  sharp  and  human.  Nance  reined  back  a 
pace  or  two.  They  were  so  near,  so  big,  Will  and  his  horse, 
that  they  shattered  her  nursery  tales  with  bewildering  rough- 
ness. 

For  a  while  she  could  not  speak,  could  not  check  the  sobs 
which  were  a  tribute,  not  to  the  living  man  but  to  his  wraith. 
Then  she  gathered  up  her  strength,  for  she  came  of  a  plucky 
stock.  Will  Underwood  was  good  at  reading  women's 
faces ;  it  was  his  trade  in  life ;  but  he  could  make  nothing  of 
Nance  just  now.  Her  glance  was  searching,  her  eyes  quiet 
and  hard,  though  tears  were  lying  on  her  lashes  still.  All 
her  world  had  slipped  from  under  her.  There  seemed  no 
longer  any  trust,  or  faith,  or  happiness  in  the  bleak  years  to 
come ;  but  at  least  she  had  her  pride. 

"Nance,  what  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"  I  thought  you  a  ghost  just  now,  Mr.  Underwood — the 
ghost  of  your  better  self,  may  be.  And  now " 


THE  STAY-AT-HOMES  171 

"  Well,  and  now  ?  "  he  broke  in,  with  the  hardy  self-assur- 
ance that  had  served  him  well  in  days  gone  by.  "  I'm  alive, 
and  entirely  at  your  service,  Nance.  Surely  there's  no  occa- 
sion for  distress  in  that." 

She  looked  gravely  at  him  for  a  moment,  with  clear  eyes 
that  seemed  to  glance  through  and  beyond  him,  as  if  his  hand- 
some body  and  his  strength  had  disappeared,  leaving  only  a 
puff  of  unsubstantial  wind  behind. 

"  There  is  occasion,"  she  said,  very  gravely  and  in  a  voice 
that  was  musical  with  pain  and  steadfastness.  "  You  had 
better  be  lying  dead,  Mr.  Underwood,  along  some  road  of 
loyalty,  than — than  be  idling  here,  when  other  men  are  fight- 
ing." 

He  reddened,  seemed  at  a  loss  for  words.  Then,  "  Nance, 
what  a  child  you  are — and  I  fancied  you  a  woman  grown," 
he  said,  with  an  attempt  at  playfulness.  "  What  is  this  Ris- 
ing, after  all?  A  few  Scots  ragamuffins  following  a  laddie 
with  yellow  hair  and  flyaway  wits.  Let  the  women  sing  bal- 
lads, and  dream  dreams;  but  level-headed  men  don't  risk  all 
on  moonshine  of  that  sort." 

"  My  father — he  is  older  than  you,  and  is  counted — more 
level-headed,  shall  we  say?  Sir  Jasper  Royd,  too,  is  a  soldier 
whose  record  all  men  know.  They  have  gone  with  the  raga- 
muffins and  the  yellow-haired  laddie." 

Underwood  was  startled  by  the  quiet  irony,  the  security,  that 
were  instinct  in  the  girl's  voice,  her  bearing.  She  was  not 
the  wayward,  pleasure-loving  Nance  he  had  known ;  she  stood, 
in  some  odd  way,  for  all  the  pride  and  all  the  resolution  of 
her  race.  He  had  earned  his  title  of  "  Wild  Will  "  by  taking 
fences  which  men  more  sensitively  built  refused  to  hazard, 
and  by  more  doubtful  exploits  which  were  laughed  at  and 
avoided  by  the  cleaner  sort  among  his  comrades.  He  was 
good  to  look  at,  gay  and  dominant;  yet  never,  to  his  life's 
end,  would  he  lay  hold  of  the  subtle  meaning  which  those 
of  an  old  race  attach  to  that  one  word  "  loyalty."  It  was  not 
his  fault  that  his  father  had  been  of  slight  account,  except  for 


172  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

a  gift  of  money-making;  but  he  had  not  cared  to  learn  the 
lessons  which  the  second  generation  must,  if  it  wished  to  lay 
hold  of  old  tradition  and  make  itself  a  home  among  the  great- 
hearted, simple  gentlemen  of  Lancashire. 

He  and  Nance  were  alone  here  on  the  uplands.  A  ragged, 
crimson  sunset  lingered  over  the  moor.  A  cock-grouse  got 
up  from  the  heather  on  their  right,  and  whirred  down  the 
bitter  wind,  chuckling  harshly  as  it  went.  It  was  a  man's 
land,  this,  full  of  hills  that  stepped,  sleety  and  austere,  to  the 
red  of  the  stormy  sky.  A  man  should  have  been  easily  the 
master  here;  and  yet  Underwood  knew  that  he  was  dwarfed, 
belittled,  by  this  slim  lass  of  Demaine's,  whose  eyes  held  truth 
and  looked  him  through  and  through. 

"  Your  excuse,  Mr.  Underwood  ? "  asked  Nance,  in  a  tone 
as  wintry  as  the  hills. 

He  should  have  known,  from  the  quiet  and  hungry  long- 
ing in  her  face,  from  the  shiver  that  took  her  unawares, 
though  the  wind's  cold  had  no  part  in  it,  how  eagerly  she 
waited  for  his  answer.  He  had  shared  her  dreams.  He  had 
captured  a  liking  that  was  very  near  to  love;  and  she  was 
defending  the  last  ditch  of  her  faith  in  him.  If  he  could 
make  amends,  even  now — and  surely  he  must,  he  who  was  so 
big  and  strong — if  he  could  give  her  one  sudden,  inspired 
word  that  would  unravel  all  the  tangle — she  was  ready  to 
believe  in  him. 

Instead,  Will  laughed  like  a  country  hobbledehoy.  "My 
excuse — why,  prudence,  Nance;  and  prudence,  they  say,  is  a 
quiet  mare  to  ride  or  drive  at  all  times.  I'll  join  your  Rising 
when  there's  a  better  chance  of  its  success.  There  were  few 
rode  out  from  Lancashire,  after  all ;  I've  met  many  a  stay-at- 
home  good  fellow  already  since  I  returned  from  the  business 
that  took  me  south." 

He  regretted  the  words  as  soon  as  they  were  spoken. 
Her  tone,  her  contemptuous  air  of  question,  had  stung  him. 
Until  now  he  had  assumed  the  manners  worn  by  these  people 


THE  STAY-AT-HOMES  173 

into  whose  midst  his  father  had  intruded,  had  carried  lip- 
service  to  the  Stuart  passably  enough,  had  won  his  way  by 
conformity  to  the  letter  of  their  deep  traditions.  And  here 
and  now,  on  the  moor  that  would  have  none  of  lies,  he  had 
plucked  the  mask  aside,  so  that  Nance  shrank  back  a  little  in 
the  saddle,  afraid  of  the  meanness  in  his  face. 

There  was  a  silence,  broken  only  by  the  wind's  fret,  by  the 
ripple  of  a  neighbouring  stream  whose  floods  were  racing 
banktop  high.  With  sharp  insistence,  one  memory  came  to 
Nance.  She  recalled  how,  weeks  ago,  she  had  left  Rupert 
and  his  brother  to  their  fight,  had  ridden  down  to  Demaine 
House  with  Will,  had  found  her  father  eager  as  a  boy  because 
Oliphant  of  Muirhouse  had  brought  news  of  the  Rising. 
She  recalled,  too,  how  Underwood  had  seemed  cold,  how  he 
had  followed  her  out  into  the  hall  and  answered  her  distrust 
of  him.  And  she  had  listened  to  his  pleading — had  bidden 
him  come  before  the  month  was  out,  if  he  were  leal — if  he 
were  leal. 

The  moor,  and  the  frost  that  made  rose-pink  and  amber  of 
the  sunset  sky,  were  very  cold  to  Nance  just  now.  If  she 
had  felt  distrust  of  this  big,  loose-built  ruffler,  she  had  been 
willing  enough  to  let  first  love  cover  up  her  doubts.  She  had 
cared  for  what  he  might  have  been,  and  had  been  concerned 
each  day  to  hide  the  traces  of  what,  in  sober  fact,  he  was. 
For  a  moment  it  seemed  to  her  that  pride,  and  strength,  and 
all,  had  left  her.  It  was  hard  and  bitter  to  know  that  some- 
thing warmer,  gayer  than  she  had  known  as  yet,  had  gone 
from  her,  not  to  return. 

Then  courage  came  to  her  again,  borrowed  from  the  hard- 
riding  days  that  had  fathered  many  generations  of  her  race. 
"  Mr.  Underwood,"  she  said,  not  looking  at  him,  "  you  picked 
up  my  kerchief  not  long  ago — do  you  remember? — and  asked 
to  keep  it." 

Even  now  he  could  not  rid  himself  of  the  easy  hunting 
days,  the  easy  conquests,  which  had  built  up  a  wall  of  self- 


174,  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

security  about  him.  "  You'll  give  it  me  before  the  month 
is  out,  Nance?  You  promised  it,"  he  said,  edging  his  horse 
nearer  hers. 

Nance  took  a  kerchief  from  the  pocket  of  her  riding-coat. 
"  Why,  yes,"  she  said,  "  I  keep  my  word.  You  may  claim  it." 

He  took  it,  put  it  to  his  lips,  all  with  the  over-done  effront- 
ery of  a  groom  who  finds  the  master's  daughter  stooping 
to  him.  "  I  shall  keep  it,"  he  said — "  until  the  next  true 
Rising  comes." 

"  Yes,"  said  Nance  submissively.  "  You  may  keep  it,  Mr. 
Underwood." 

"  Nay,  call  me  Will !  "  he  blundered  on.  "  Listen,  Nance. 
When  I  spoke  of  prudence  just  now,  I — I  lied.  You  stung 
me  into  saying  what  I  did  not  mean.  There  were  reasons 
kept  me  here.  You'll  believe  me,  surely?  Urgent  reasons. 
And  here  I  am,  eating  my  heart  out  while  other  men  are  tak- 
ing happy  risks." 

Nance  glanced  once  at  him.  His  voice  was  persuasive  as  of 
old ;  he  had  the  same  easy  seat  in  saddle,  the  handsome,  dash- 
away  figure  that  had  given  him  a  certain  romantic  place  of 
his  own  among  his  intimates;  but  there  was  something  new. 
She  understood,  with  sudden  humiliation  and  self-pity,  how 
slight  a  thing  first  love  may  be.  And,  because  he  had  forced 
this  knowledge  on  her,  she  would  not  spare  him. 

"  You  may  keep  it,"  she  repeated.  "  The  enemy  may 
come  to  Windyhough,  and  you  will  need  a  flag  of  truce,  as 
the  old  men  and  the  disabled  will — and  my  kerchief — it  will 
serve  as  well  as  another." 

She  was  alone  with  him,  here  on  the  empty  moor,  and  had 
only  a  broken- winded  horse  to  help  her  if  need  asked.  Yet 
her  disdain  of  him  was  so  complete,  her  humiliation  so  bitter, 
that  she  had  no  fear.  She  spoke  slowly,  quietly ;  and  Under- 
wood reined  his  horse  back  a  little,  as  if  she  had  struck  him 
with  her  riding-whip. 

"  AH  this  because  I'll  not  risk  my  head  for  a  wild-cat  plot 
to  put  a  Stuart  on  the  throne  ?  " 


THE  STAY-AT-HOMES  175 

"  Oh,  not  for  that  reason.  Because  you  promised  to  risk 
your  head;  because,  in  time  of  peace,  you  persuaded  loyal 
gentlemen  that  you  were  one  of  them;  because,  Mr.  Under- 
wood, you  ran  away  before  you  had  ever  seen  the  enemy." 

Nance's  one  desire  was  to  hurt  this  man,  to  get  through 
his  armour  of  good  living  and  complacency;  it  was  her  way 
— the  woman's  way — of  digging  a  grave  in  which  to  hide  the 
first  love  that  was  dead,  unlovely,  pitiful. 

"  Well,  we  hunted  yesterday,"  said  the  other  doggedly. 
"  There  were  plenty  of  Lancashire  gentlemen  in  my  own  case 
— our  heads  sounder  than  our  hearts — and  we  had  fine  sport. 
And,  coming  home — you'll  forgive  me — we  laughed  at  Sir 
Jasper  and  his  handful  of  enthusiasts.  We  like  them — we 
shall  miss  them  when  they're  gibbeted  in  London — but  we 
laughed  at  their  old-fashioned  view  of  honour.  Honour  trims 
pretty  rosettes  for  a  man  to  wear,  but  doesn't  save  his  head. 
Honour's  a  woman's  pastime,  Miss  Demaine." 

Nance  looked  at  him  with  frank  astonishment.  This  man 
knew  that  her  own  father  was  of  Sir  Jasper's  company,  that 
she  was  troubled,  like  all  stay-at-homes,  lest  ill  news  should 
come.  And  he  chose  this  time  to  defend  himself  by  confess- 
ing that  he  and  others  had  laughed  at  better  men.  And  he 
talked  of  Tower  Hill. 

"  When  the  gentlemen  of  Lancashire  return — when  the 
Prince  has  come  to  his  own,  and  England  is  free  again  and 
happy — what  then,  Mr.»  Underwood  ?  It  will  go  ill,  I  think. 
with  masqueraders." 

They  faced  each  other,  the  man  insolent,  ungroomed — true 
to  his  breed,  as  folk  are  apt  to  be  in  time  of  stress — Nance 
in  that  mood  of  hot  fury  and  contempt  which  is  cool  and 
debonair. 

"  What  then  ?  "  he  said,  stroking  his  horse's  neck.  "  The 
Vicar  of  Bray  was  a  very  good  man  of  the  world,  after  all, 
and  he  prospered.  We  shall  toast  the  Stuart  openly;  it  will 
save  all  that  clumsy  ritual  of  passing  the  wine  across  the 
water." 


176  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

Nance  was  healthy,  eager,  human.  She  shrank,  with  an 
odd,  childish  loathing,  from  this  man  who  counted  the  world 
— the  big,  gallant  world  of  faith,  and  strife,  and  loyalty — as 
a  dining-table,  no  more,  no  less,  where  wise  men  took  their 
ease.  She  gathered  the  reins  into  her  hand,  turned  in  saddle. 

"  Keep  the  kerchief,  sir,"  she  said  gently.  "  As  I  told  you, 
you  will  need  it  when  " — her  voice  broke  suddenly,  against 
her  will — "  when  our  men  come  home  from  the  crowning." 

And  then  she  left  him.  He  watched  her  go  down  the  slope 
on  her  fiddle-headed  nag.  All  his  buoyancy  was  gone.  He 
had  been  spoiled  by  flattery,  of  word  and  glance ;  he  had  been 
accustomed  to  be  taken  at  his  surface  value,  giving  his  friends 
little  opportunity  to  test  whether  he  rang  true  or  not.  And 
now  he  was  like  a  pampered  child  that  meets  its  first  rebuff. 
His  pluck  had  left  him.  He  had  no  heart  to  follow  Nance, 
though  by  and  by  he  would  regret  the  lost  opportunity  to 
claim  rough  satisfaction  for  her  handling  of  him.  She  had 
spoken,  with  such  security  and  pride,  of  the  loyalty  that  was 
an  instinct  with  her.  Her  men  who  had  ridden  out  were  of 
the  like  mind ;  and  Underwood,  in  a  flash  of  enlightenment 
and  dismay,  saw  how  the  coming  days  would  go  with  him  if 
this  haphazard  venture  of  the  Prince's  carried  him  to  London 
and  the  throne.  His  comfortable  house  of  Underwood,  his 
easy  life,  the  dinners  and  the  hunting  and  the  balls — all 
would  have  to  be  given  up.  He  had  no  illusions  now  as  to 
his  power  to  continue  here  among  them,  explaining  his  share 
in  the  enterprise,  winning  his  way  back  to  favour  by  excel- 
lence in  field  sports  and  in  ladies'  parlours.  If  the  Prince 
came  to  his  own,  there  would  be  an  end  of  Wild  Will,  so 
far  as  loyal  Lancashire  was  concerned;  for  at  every  turn  he 
would  have  to  meet  the  scorn  that  Nance  had  given  him  so 
unsparingly  to-day. 

Nance  looked  back  once,  when  she  was  half  down  the 
slope,  and  saw  him  sitting  rigid  in  the  saddle,  horse  and 
man  showing  in  clear,  lonely  outline  against  the  rainy  sky. 
He  would  be  himself  again  to-morrow,  for  shallowness  can 


THE  STAY-AT-HOMES  177 

never  suffer  long;  but  she  would  have  pitied  him,  may  be, 
could  she  have  guessed  his  bitter  loneliness  just  now.  Shorn 
of  his  self-love,  Nance  lost  beyond  hope  of  regaining — in- 
stinct told  him  so  much — alive  to  the  cowardice  which  no 
longer  wore  the  more  pleasant  air  of  prudence,  Underwood 
looked  out  on  lands  as  forlorn  as  himself;  and,  far  down  the 
slope,  he  saw  Nance's  little  figure,  and  knew  that,  in  some 
odd  way  that  was  better  than  himself,  he  loved  this  trim  lass 
of  Demaine's. 

Nance  reached  the  lower  lands,  where  the  bridle-track  ran 
in  and  out  beside  the  swollen  streams,  past  coppices  where  the 
trees  were  comely  in  their  winter's  nakedness.  She  saw  each 
line  and  furrow  of  the  pastures,  remembered  they  had  found 
a  fox  last  month  in  the  spinney  yonder,  recalled  how  she  and 
Rupert  had  fished  the  brook  together,  just  where  it  ran  un- 
der the  grey  stone  bridge  below  her.  All  her  faculties  seemed 
to  be  sharpened,  rather  than  deadened,  by  the  blow,  piti- 
less and  hard,  that  Will  had  given  her  just  now.  Her  first 
love — the  delicate  and  fragrant  thing  that  had  been  inter- 
woven with  her  waking  and  her  dreaming  hours — had  died 
shamefully.  She  could  not  even  bring  a  decent  show  of  grief 
to  the  graveside ;  her  only  feeling  was  that  it  should  be  buried, 
in  the  middle  of  a  dark  midwinter's  night,  out  of  all  men's 
sight  and  gossip. 

And,  in  this  hour  of  swift  and  unexpected  trouble,  she  was 
as  her  father  and  her  brothers  would  have  had  her  be — un- 
flinching, reliant,  reaching  out  instinctively  to  the  strong  mor- 
row, not  to  the  dead,  unlovely  yesterday.  Only,  she  was 
very  tired;  and  there  was  one  friend  she  needed — a  friend 
who  could  not  come  and  put  warm,  human  arms  about  her, 
because  her  mother  had  died  long  ago,  leaving  her  to  the 
care  of  men  who  love  and  honour  and  defend  their  women, 
but  who  are  weak  to  understand  their  times  of  loneliness. 

She  was  a  great  figure,  after  all,  this  daughter  of  Demaine's 
who  rode  on  a  broken-winded  horse  through  the  fieldways  that 
had  bred  her.  It  is  easy  to  ride  forward,  head  erect,  into 


178  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

the  city  you  have  taken  by  assault;  but  it  is  hard  to  carry 
upright  shoulders  and  a  firm,  disdainful  head,  when  only 
faith  and  the  clean  years  behind  support  you  in  the  thick  of 
grave  disaster. 

At  the  bend  of  the  track,  where  it  passed  Sunderland's 
cornmill — the  water-wheel  treading  its  sleepy  round — she  saw 
Rupert  and  Simon  Foster  twenty  yards  ahead.  Simon  was 
carrying  a  couple  of  muskets,  his  pockets  bulging  with  pow- 
der-flasks and  lead,  and  Rupert  was  limping  a  little,  as  if 
he  had  given  too  much  work  to  his  damaged  ankle ;  and  Nance 
Demaine,  who  was  in  the  mood  that  sees  all  and  understands, 
knew,  from  the  look  of  Rupert's  back,  that  he  was  pleased 
with  the  day's  adventure. 

Her  horse  was  tired  now,  and  for  the  last  mile  she  had 
ridden  him  at  a  gentle  foot  pace.  The  track  was  heavy  with 
wet  leaves  that  waited  for  a  drying  wind  to  scatter  them. 
The  two  on  foot  did  not  hear  the  muffled  splash  of  hoofs, 
and  she  was  content  to  follow  them. 

She  had  been  friendless;  and  now  half  her  loneliness  had 
slipped  away  from  her,  at  sight  of  Rupert  limping  on  ahead. 
He  was  more  diffident  than  she,  more  sensitive  to  ridicule 
and  hardship;  but  he  stood  for  the  truths  that  matter  in  a 
world  where  men  and  women  are  ready,  for  the  most  part, 
to  believe  that  all  ends  when  death  robs  them  of  the  power  to 
eat,  and  sleep,  and  dance  foolishly  from  day  to  day,  like 
gnats  when  the  sun  is  warm  about  them.  He  stood  for  her 
own  simple,  downright  view  of  creed  and  honour;  he  was  a 
comrade  of  the  true  breed,  in  brief,  and  she  was  in  sore  need 
of  companionship  just  now. 

How  well  she  seemed  to  know  this  cripple  who  jogged  on 
before  her!  Half- forgotten  words  of  his;  little,  unselfish 
surrenders  when  Maurice  had  shown  a  younger  brother's 
wilfulness;  the  patient  chivalry  that  had  bidden  him  show 
deference  to  Lady  Royd  when  her  tongue  was  lashing  his  in- 
firmities— all  these  stood  out  with  startling  clearness.  And 
again  that  curious,  sharp  pain  was  at  her  heart,  and  the  old 


THE  STAY-AT-HOMES  179 

thought  returned  how  good  a  knight  was  lost  to  Prince 
Charles  Edward. 

They  were  near  the  gate  of  Windyhough  now,  and  Rupert, 
hearing  hoofs  behind  him  at  last,  turned  quickly.  The  fa- 
miliar eagerness  came  to  his  face  at  sight  of  her — the  instant 
pleasure,  followed  by  a  hint  of  pain;  the  homage  that  was 
there  to  be  read  plainly  by  any  onlooker. 

"  So  this  is  the  King's  business  you  have  been  about  ?  "  said 
Nance,  looking  down  at  him  with  a  tenderness  that  set  his 
blood  on  fire. 

"  Why,  yes.  I  said  there  was  no  mystery  about  it.  Since 
you  told  me  you  could  not  trust  your  men  to  shoot 
straight " 

"  Oh,  Rupert,  I  was  foolish ;  I  did  not  mean  it.  I  was  out 
of  heart  that  day,  and  temper  got  the  better  of  me." 

"  But  it  was  true.  I  had  fancied  that,  if  the  attack  came, 
it  would  be  enough  to  fire  one's  musket  and  trust  to  Provi- 
dence for  marksmanship.  It  was  a  daft  thought,  Nance,  was 
it  not?  It  was  shirking  trouble." 

Nance  got  down  from  the  saddle,  gave  the  reins  to  Simon 
Foster.  "  Take  him  to  the  stable,  Simon,"  she  said.  "  He 
has  carried  me  well,  and  deserves  a  double  feed."  She 
wished  to  be  alone  with  Rupert  and  the  other's  presence 
seemed  an  irritating  check  on  speech.  And  yet,  when  Simon 
had  left  them,  they  stood  looking  at  each  other  in  troubled 
silence.  Each  was  in  a  tense,  restless  mood,  and  their  trouble 
only  gathered  weight  by  the  companionship. 

"Did  you  find  it  hard — this  learning  how  to  shoot?"  she 
asked  at  last. 

"  It  was  easier  than  knowing  you  could  not  trust  me,  Nance, 
to  guard  you."  The  old,  whimsical  self-derision  was  in  his 
voice.  He  had  learned  at  least  to  carry  his  hurts  bravely. 

And  she  could  find  no  words.  There  was  some  quality  in 
Rupert — of  manliness — that  touched  her  now  with  an  emo- 
tion deep  and  poignant,  and  clean  as  tempered  steel. 

"  The  pity  of  it !  "  she  murmured,  after  another  long,  un- 


180  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

easy  silence.  "  To  prepare  so  well  for  an  attack  that  cannot 
come " 

"  But  it  may  come,  Nance.  These  last  days — I  cannot 
tell  you  why — I  have  not  felt  that  all  was  make-believe,  as  I 
did  at  first." 

"  How  should  it  come,  Rupert  ?  They  are  so  far  away — 
near  London,  surely,  now " 

"  How  will  it  come  ?  I  do  not  know.  But  I  know  that 
I  have  asked  for  it — asked  patiently,  Nance — and  faith  must 
be  answered  one  day." 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  you  are  so— so  oddly  staunch,  and 
so  unpractical."  And  her  voice  broke,  and  she  could  get 
no  farther. 

And  Rupert  smiled  gravely,  touched  her  hand,  as  a  courtier 
might,  and  limped  up  toward  the  house. 

Nance  stood  there  awhile,  with  long  thoughts  for  com- 
pany. Then,  seeking  a  respite  from  her  mood,  she  crossed 
the  stables  to  give  a  carrot  to  the  fiddle-headed  horse;  but 
she  got  no  farther  than  the  corner  of  the  yard.  At  the  stable- 
door,  deaf  to  all  sounds  from  the  outward  world  and  careless 
of  the  many  windows  looking  out  on  them,  Simon  Foster  and 
Martha  were  standing  hand  in  hand.  Martha's  face  was 
rose-red  and  smiling,  her  lover's  full  of  an  amazing  foolish- 
ness. 

"  There's  the  bonnie,  snod  lass  you  are,  Martha ! "  Simon 
was  declaring.  "  I  never  thought  to  see  such  a  day  as  this. 
Why  didn't  I  think  of  it  before,  like?" 

"  Perhaps  you  were  blind,  Simon,"  put  in  the  other,  with 
a  coy  upward  glance. 

Nance  retreated  out  of  eye-shot,  and  for  the  moment  she 
forgot  her  troubles.  She  just  laughed  until  her  eyes  were 
wet  and  her  slim  little  body  shook.  The  scene  was  so  unex- 
pected, so  instinct  with  sheer  humour,  that  the  gravest  must 
have  yielded  to  it.  Then,  as  the  pressure  of  the  last  ill-fated 
days  returned  to  her,  she  was  filled  with  a  childish  wonder 
that  life  should  be  so  muddled,  so  rough-and-tumble,  so 


THE  STAY-AT-HOMES  181! 

seemingly  disordered.  There  was  Sir  Jasper,  conquering  or 
defeated,  but  either  way  carrying  his  life  in  his  hands.  There 
was  Windyhough  itself — house,  lands  and  all — at  stake.  And 
yet  Simon  and  the  dairymaid,  whose  discretion  now,  if  ever, 
should  have  ripened,  were  reading  folly  in  each  other's  eyes. 

She  heard  Martha  cross,  singing,  to  the  kitchen,  and  turned 
and  sought  the  stables  again.  She  was  anxious  to  learn  some- 
thing which  only  Simon  could  tell  her;  for  Rupert  was  diffi- 
dent of  his  own  skill  at  all  times,  and  would  not  have  given 
her,  had  she  asked  it,  a  true  account  of  his  marksmanship. 

Simon  was  brushing  down  the  horse  when  she  went  in. 
He  glanced  up  with  grave,  stolid  innocence,  as  if  he  had  had 
no  other  occupation  than  this  of  grooming. 

"  What  has  the  master  learned  in  these  last  days  ? "  she 
asked  abruptly.  "  Does  he  aim  well,  Simon  ?  " 

"  He  shapes  grandly ;  but  then,  he  always  does  when  his 
mind  is  fair  set  on  a  matter.  We  were  in  a  lonely  spot,  too, 
you  see,  with  none  to  laugh  at  him  while  he  made  his  first 
mistakes." 

Nance  stroked  the  fiddle-headed  nag,  and  watched  him 
munch  his  carrot,  and  seemed  glad  to  linger  here. 

"  He  can  hit  his  man  now,  you  think  ?  " 

"Well,  I  reckon  if  I  were  the  man,  I'd  as  lief  be  out  of 
range  as  in.  I  tell  you,  the  young  master  does  naught  by 
halves.  The  trouble  is  to  get  him  started.  You'd  best  come 
with  us  when  we  go  out  again  this  afternoon,  and  shoot  a 
match  with  him." 

And  by  and  by  Nance  went  indoors  with  a  light  step  and 
a  sense  of  betterment.  It  was  pleasant  to  hear  Rupert 
praised. 


CHAPTER  X 

HOW   THE   PIPES   PLAYED   DREARILY 

WHILE  the  Lancashire  farmers  were  watering  their  cattle, 
milking  them,  tending  the  sheep  whose  fleeces  were  the  great 
part  of  their  livelihood;  while  Lady  Royd  and  Nance  were 
querulous  because  they  had  a  roof  above  their  heads,  and  fires 
in  the  house,  and  food  in  plenty;  while  Rupert  went  dog- 
gedly about  his  drill  of  musket-practice,  with  a  heart  yearn- 
ing for  the  battles  he  pictured  in  the  doing  London  way,  the 
Prince's  army  came  to  Derby — came  in  the  dusk  of  a  wild 
November  day,  with  wind-driven  rain  across  their  faces,  and 
every  house-roof  running  wet. 

Derby  was  no  fine  town  to  see.  It  was  commonplace  and 
dull,  to  the  verge  of  dreariness.  But,  to  those  who  marched 
into  it  to-day  on  the  Stuart's  business,  it  stood  ever  after- 
wards for  a  place  of  tragedy — tragedy  so  poignant  and  so 
swift  that  it  gathered  round  its  mean,  ill-ordered  streets  a 
glamour  not  its  own — the  glamour  of  the  might-have-been. 

Sir  Jasper  Royd,  neither  then  nor  afterwards,  could  piece 
together  the  tumult  and  unrest  that  troubled  those  two  days 
they  spent  at  Derby.  He  knew  that  Lord  Murray  was 
querulous,  his  temper  shrewish;  he  saw  the  Prince  move 
abroad  with  unconquerable  courage,  but  with  the  look  in 
his  eyes  that  Skye  men  have  when  the  sad  mists  hide  the  sun 
from  them.  He  was  aware  that  some  big  issue,  known  only 
to  the  leaders,  was  calling  for  prompt  decision.  For  the 
rest,  he  wondered  that  loyal  gentlemen  had  any  thought  but 
one — to  march  on  where  Prince  Charles  Edward  chose  to 
lead. 

Once — it  was  on  the  second  morning  of  their  halt  at  Derby 
— he  met  Lord  Murray  face  to  face  in  the  street. 

182 


HOW  THE  PIPES  PLAYED  DREARILY          183 

"You  look  trim  and  happy,  Sir  Jasper,"  said  Murray,  un- 
easy in  his  greeting  since  the  duel  he  had  fought  with  this 
odd  gentleman  from  Lancashire. 

"  My  faith  commands  it.  I  obey.  What  else  ? "  growled 
the  older  man. 

"  Then  you're  lucky  in  your  creed,"  drawled  the  other — "  or 
in  your  obedience.  Few  gentlemen  of  the  Prince's  could  find 
a  smile  to-day,  as  you  do,  if  their  heads  depended  on  it.  Give 
me  the  trick  of  it,  sir,"  he  went  on,  with  clumsy  raillery. 
"  When  all  is  lost — when  we're  trapped  like  foxes,  with  three 
armies  closing  in  upon  us — you  take  your  snuff-box  out,  and 
dust  your  nostrils,  and  smile  as  if  these  cursed  Midlands  were 
a  garden." 

Sir  Jasper's  distrust  of  the  man  yielded  to  a  slow,  unwill- 
ing pity.  He  had  so  much,  as  he  counted  riches,  and  Murray 
was  so  destitute,  so  in  need  of  alms,  that  he  spoke  with  quiet 
friendliness,  as  if  he  taught  a  child  that  two  and  two,  since 
time's  beginning,  added  up  to  four. 

"  All  the  world's  a  garden,  to  those  who  hold  the  Faith," 
he  said  slowly,  searching  for  the  one  right  word  to  express 
what  was  plain  to  him  as  the  road  to  London.  "  When  all 
seems  losing,  or  lost  altogether — are  you  so  town-bred  that 
you  do  not  know  the  darkest  hour  comes  just  before  the 
dawn — the  dawn,  if  a  man  can  keep  himself  in  hand  and 
wait  for  it?" 

"  Your  sentiments,  Sir  Jasper,  do  you  credit,"  sneered  Mur- 
ray, stung  by  the  sheer  strength,  the  reality,  of  this  man's 
outlook  upon  life.  "  They  should  be  written,  in  a  round,  fair 
hand,  at  the  head  of  all  good  children's  copybooks.  For  our- 
selves, we  are  men — and  living  in  a  rough-and-ready  world — 
and  we  know  there  are  some  dark  hours  that  never  lift  to 
dawn." 

"  There  are  none,"  said  Sir  Jasper  bluntly.  "  Believe  me, 
I  talk  of  what  I  know.  The  black  night  always  lifts." 

Murray  strode  forward  impatiently,  turned  back,  regarded 
the  other  with  an  evasive  glance.  It  was  plain  that,  what- 


184  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

ever  was  his  errand  down  Derby's  rainy  main-street,  he 
brought  a  harassed  mind  to  it.  "  You  may  be  proved,  sir, 
sooner  than  you  think.  Suppose  this  Rising  failed.  Sup- 
pose we  were  crushed  like  a  hazel-nut  between  these  three 
converging  armies;  suppose  the  Prince  were  taken,  and  we 
with  him,  would  you  stand  on  Tower  Hill  and  say  the  dawn 
was  coming?" 

"  My  lord  Murray,"  the  other  answered  gravely,  "  we  none 
of  us  know,  until  the  hour,  whether  our  courage  will  prove 
equal  to  our  needs.  But  I  say  this.  If  I'm  the  man  I've 
drilled  myself  to  be,  if  I  can  keep  my  eyes  clear  as  they  are 
now — I  will  stand  with  you  on  Tower  Hill,  and  you  will  know 
that  the  dawn  is  very  near  to  me." 

"  Gad,  sir,  you're  tough ! "  growled  Murray.  Piety  had 
shown  to  him  till  now  as  a  dour,  forbidding  thing  that  made 
fools  or  fanatics  of  men.  He  had  not  understood — though 
the  Highlanders  should  have  taught  him  so  much — that  it 
could  be  instinct  with  romance,  and  warmth,  and  well-being, 
making  endeavour  and  sacrifice  a  soldier's  road  to  the  steep 
hill-tops  of  the  certain  dawn. 

"  I've  need  to  be,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  with  the  same  unalter- 
able simplicity.  "  There  are  too  many  weak-kneed  folk  with 
us."  There  was  a  pause,  and  he  looked  Murray  in  the  face 
as  he  had  done  just  before  their  duel  in  the  wood.  "  You  go 
to  the  Prince's  Council  ?  "  he  went  on. 

"  Well,  since  you've  guessed  as  much — yes." 

"And  you  will  air  your  knowledge  of  arithmetic — will 
argue  that  all's  lost  already  according  to  the  known  rules  of 
warfare.  No,  you  need  not  disclaim.  We  know  your  mind. 
My  lord,  I  am  in  command  only  of  a  ragged  company  from 
Lancashire,  and  not  privileged  to  share  your  Council.  But  I 
ask  you  to  listen  to  a  plain  gentleman's  view  of  this  adventure. 
We  follow  no  known  rules,  save  that  the  straight  road  is  the 
readiest.  We  have  one  thought  only — of  advance.  There 
is  the  London  road  open  to  us,  and  no  other,  and  God  for- 


HOW  THE  PIPES  PLAYED  DREARILY          185 

give  you  if  you  sound  the  note  of  retreat  that  will  ruin  all." 

"  My  good  Sir  Jasper,  my  mind  was  made  up  long  ago. 
The  world's  as  it's  made,  and  battle  is  a  crude  reckoning  up 
of  men,  and  arms,  and  odds " 

"  And  the  something  more  that  you  will  not  understand — 
the  something  that  has  carried  us  to  Derby,  as  by  a  miracle. 
Listen,  my  lord !  I  ask  you  to  listen.  You  go  to  this  Coun- 
cil. In  an  hour  or  so  all  will  be  settled,  one  way  or  the  other. 
Remember  that  you  Highland  chiefs  have  the  Stuart's  honour 
in  your  hands,  the  lives  of  all  these  simple  Highlanders.  You 
know  that  the  Prince  has  one  mind  only — to  push  forward — 
but  that  you  can  overrule  him  if  you  will."  Sir  Jasper's 
voice  was  strained  and  harsh,  so  eager  was  he  to  bring  his 
voice  to  the  Council,  if  only  by  deputy.  "  You  know,  Lord 
Murray,  that  the  Highlanders  are  with  their  Prince,  in 
thought,  in  faith,  in  eagerness  to  run  the  gauntlet.  You 
know,  too,  that  your  Scots  tradition  bids  them,  liking  it  or  no, 
follow  their  chieftains  first,  their  Prince  afterwards." 

"  I  am  well  aware  of  it.  That  is  the  weapon  I  mean  to 
make  full  use  of,  since  you  compel  my  candour." 

It  was  a  moment  when  men  are  apt  to  find  unsuspected, 
gusty  feelings  stir  and  cry  for  outlet.  For  neither  to  Sir 
Jasper  nor  Lord  Murray  was  there  any  doubt  that  the  whole 
well-being  of  England — England,  thrifty,  pleasant,  mistress 
of  the  seas,  and  royalist  to  the  core  of  her  strong,  tender  heart 
— rested  on  this  Council  that  was  soon  to  make  its  choice 
between  opposing  policies.  And  Lord  Murray,  in  his  own 
cold  fashion,  believed  that  he  was  the  wise  counsellor  of  the 
enterprise,  enforcing  prudence  on  hot-headed  zealots ;  for 
Murray  was  three  parts  honest,  though  he  was  cursed  from 
birth  by  lack  of  breadth  and  that  practical,  high  imagination 
which  makes  fine  leaders. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Sir  Jasper  unexpectedly.  "  Till  you 
die,  Lord  Murray,  you'll  regret  your  share  in  this.  You've 
gained  many  to  your  side,  and  may  carry  what  you  have  in 


186  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

mind ;  but,  if  you  have  your  way,  I'd  rather  die  on  Tower 
Hill  than  lie  on  the  bed  you're  making  for  yourself.  You'll 
think  better  of  it  ? "  he  broke  off,  with  a  quick  tenderness 
that  surprised  him.  "  You're  brave,  you're  capable ;  surely 
you  will  see  the  open  road  to  London  as  I  see  it  now — the 
only  road  of  honour.  For  your  own  sake " 

"  For  my  own  sake  ?  "  snapped  Murray,  moved  against  his 
will.  "  Why  should  you  care  so  much,  sir,  for  what  con- 
cerns my  happiness?" 

And  then  again  Sir  Jasper  did  not  know  his  mood,  was  not 
master  of  the  words  that  found  their  own  heedless  outlet. 
"  Why  ?  Because,  perhaps,  we  fought  together — long  ago,  it 
seems — because  the  man  who  wins  a  duel  has  always  some 
queer,  tender  liking  for  his  adversary.  My  lord  Murray,  I 
would  wish  to  see  you  a  strong  man  in  this  Council — strong 
as  the  Prince  himself.  I  wish — dear  God !  I  wish  to  ride  the 
London  road  beside  you,  forgetting  we  once  quarrelled." 

Murray's  face  was  hard  as  ever,  but  he  was  moved  at  last. 
This  Lancashire  squire,  whose  strength  could  not  be  bought, 
or  tamed,  or  killed  by  ridicule,  had  found  a  way  through  all 
defences  of  prudence  and  arithmetic.  It  was  the  moment, 
had  they  known  it,  when  the  whole  fate  of  the  Rising  was  at 
issue;  for  the  great  councils  are  shaped  often  by  those  hap- 
hazard meetings  in  the  streets  that  sway  men's  moods  before- 
hand. 

And,  as  it  chanced,  Lochiel  came  swinging  down  the  street, 
on  his  way  to  join  the  Council — Lochiel,  with  his  lean,  up- 
right body,  his  gaiety,  not  lightly  won,  that  made  sunshine 
between  the  mean,  grey  house-fronts — Lochiel,  his  wet  kilt 
swinging  round  his  knees,  and  in  his  face  the  strong,  tender 
light  that  is  bred  of  the  big  hills  and  the  big,  northern  storms. 

Murray  glanced  up  the  street,  saw  Lochiel.  All  finer  im- 
pulses were  killed,  as  if  a  blight  had  fallen  on  them ;  for  Mur- 
ray was  ridden  by  the  meanest  of  the  sins,  and  was  an  abject 
slave  to  jealousy. 

Lochiel  halted,  and  the  three  of  them  passed  the  time  of 


HOW  THE  PIPES  PLAYED  DREARILY          187 

day  together,  guardedly,  knowing  what  was  in  the  issue,  and 
reticent. 

"You  come  in  a  good  hour,  Lochiel,"  said  Murray,  with 
the  disdain  that  had  never  served  him  well.  "  Sir  Jasper  here 
has  been  talking  moonshine  and  high  Faith.  You'll  be 
agreed." 

Lochiel  stood,  just  himself,  schooled  by  hardship  to  a  chiv- 
alry that  few  men  learn.  "  I  think  on  most  points  we're 
agreed,  Sir  Jasper  and  I.  It  is  a  privilege  to  meet  these 
gentlemen  of  Lancashire;  they  know  their  mind  and  speak  it. 
They'll  not  be  bought,  Murray,  not  even  by  Dame  Prudence, 
whose  lap  you  sit  in." 

So  then  Murray's  chilliness  took  fire.  There  was  need, 
even  in  his  sluggish  veins,  to  set  the  troubles  of  this  venture 
right  by  casual  quarrels. 

"When  we  find  leisure,  I  shall  seek  satisfaction,  Lochiel;. 
you'll  not  deny  it  me." 

And  Lochiel  laughed  gently.  "  Dear  Murray,  I  ask  noth- 
ing better.  The  only  trouble  is  that  we'll  be  dead,  the  two 
of  us,  long  before  the  promised  meeting,  if  you  have  your 
way  with  the  Council  that  is  going  to  end  old  England  or  to 
mend  her." 

"  I  shall  have  my  way,"  growled  the  other,  and  passed  down 
the  street. 

Lochiel  put  his  arm  on  Sir  Jasper's  shoulder.  He  had  no 
gaiety  now ;  his  heart  was  aching,  and  he  spoke  as  friend 
to  friend.  "  I  believe  him,"  he  said  quietly.  "  Murray  had 
always  the  gift  of  rallying  doubters  round  him.  The  Duke 
of  Perth  is  staunch.  Elcho  is  staunch,  and  a  few  others. 
For  the  rest,  they've  been  tempted  by  this  glib  talk  of  strategy. 
Murray  has  persuaded  them  that  we've  marched  to  Derby 
simply  to  retreat  in  good  order;  that  we  shall  do  better  to 
fall  back  on  some  imaginary  host  of  friends  who  happened 
to  be  late  for  the  Rising,  and  who  are  eager  now  to  join 
us." 

"Retreat?"  snapped  Sir  Jasper.     "The  devil  coined  that 


188  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

word,  Lochiel.  Murray's  shrewd  and  a  Scotsman  and  no 
coward;  he  should  know  that  the  good  way  lies  forward 
always." 

And  then  Lochiel,  because  he  was  so  heart-sick  and  so 
tired  of  strategy,  fell  into  that  light  mood  which  touches  men 
at  times  when  they're  in  danger  of  breaking  under  stress  of 
feeling. 

"  I  can  only  think  of  one  case  where  your  gospel  fails,"  he 
said,  with  the  quick,  boyish  smile  that  sat  oddly  on  his 
harassed  face.  "  Retreat  in  good  order,  sir,  has  been  known 
to  carry  honour  with  it." 

"  I  know  of  none,  Lochiel,"  insisted  the  other,  in  his  down- 
right way. 

"  Oh,  Potiphar's  wife,  perhaps.  And,  there,  Sir  Jasper, 
you  think  me  flippant ;  and  I  tell  you  that  my  heart  is  as  near 
to  breaking  as  any  Hielandman's  in  Derby.  It  is  a  queer, 
disastrous  pain,  this  heartbreak."  Lochiel's  shoulders 
drooped  a  little.  The  wind  came  raving  down  the  street 
and  made  him  shiver  as  with  ague.  Then  his  weakness 
passed,  and  he  lifted  his  trim,  buoyant  head  to  any  hardship 
that  was  coming.  "  Fools'  hearts  may  break,"  he  said  sharply. 
"  For  me,  I'll  see  this  trouble  through.  I'll  find  a  glimpse 
of  blue  sky  somewhere;  aye,  Sir  Jasper,  though  Murray  sets 
the  darkness  of  the  pit  about  us." 

The  two  men  looked  gravely  at  each  other,  as  comrades  do. 
They  were  of  the  like  unalterable  faith;  they  were  chilled  by 
this  constant  drag  upon  a  march  that,  left  to  the  leader  of 
it,  would  have  gone  forward  blithely. 

Most  of  all,  perhaps,  they  felt  the  weakness  that  was  the 
keystone  of  their  whole  position.  The  Highlanders  were 
eager  for  the  Prince,  would  have  laid  down  their  lives  for 
him,  wished  only  for  the  forward  march  and  the  battle  against 
odds ;  but,  deep  in  those  hidden  places  of  the  soul  where  the 
far-back  fathers  have  planted  legacies,  they  were  obedi- 
ent to  the  tradition  that  a  Highlandman  follows  his  own 


HOW  THE  PIPES  PLAYED  DREARILY          189 

chief,  though  the  King  himself  bids  him  choose  a  happier  and 
more  pleasant  road. 

Lochiel  knew  this,  as  a  country  squire  knows  the  staunch 
virtues,  whims,  and  failings  of  his  tenantry;  and  because  his 
knowledge  was  so  sure,  he  feared  the  issue  of  this  Council. 
Murray  could  never  have  won  the  rank  and  file;  but  he  had 
captured  the  most  part  of  the  chiefs,  who  had  been  leading 
too  easy  lives  these  late  days  and  had  softened  to  the  call 
of  prudence.  And  the  Council,  in  its  view  of  it,  had  come 
already  to  a  decision  shameful  and  disastrous. 

"  Sir  Jasper,"  said  Lochiel  suddenly,  "  we  go  pitying  our- 
selves, and  that  is  always  waste  of  time.  What  of  the  Prince? 
I  cannot  tell  you  the  love — the  love  proven  to  the  hilt — I  have 
for  him.  We  give  our  little  to  this  rising;  but  he,  brave 
soul,  gives  all.  No  detail  of  our  men's  comfort  in  this 
evil  weather,  no  cheery  word  when  the  world  goes  very  ill 
with  us,  has  been  neglected.  And,  above  the  detail — oh, 
above  the  detail  that  frets  his  nerves  to  fiddle-strings — he 
keeps  the  single  goal  ahead.  He  keeps  the  bridge  of  faith, 
Sir  Jasper,  with  a  gallantry  that  makes  me  weak  about  my 
mother's  knees  again,  as  if — as  if  I  did  not  need  to  be 
ashamed  of  tears." 

Sir  Jasper  passed  a  hand  across  his  eyes.  He  had  kept, 
through  the  rough  journey  of  his  sixty  years,  a  passionate 
devotion  to  the  Stuart;  and  he  had  travelled  with  Prince 
Charles  Edward,  as  wayfarers  do  with  wayfarers,  through 
sleety  roads,  and  had  found,  as  few  men  do,  that  his  fine, 
chivalrous  ideal  was  less  than  the  reality.  "  I've  been  near 
his  Highness  often,"  he  said  slowly.  "  He  kept  his  temper 
firm  on  the  rein  when  I  could  not  have  done.  He  went  about 
the  camp  o'  nights,  when  most  of  his  gentry  were  asleep,  and 
tended  ailing  Highlanders.  He's  as  big  as  Pendle  Hill  in 
Lancashire;  and,  Lochiel,  keep  a  good  heart  through  this 
Council,  for  he  was  cast  in  a  bigger  mould  than  most  of 
us." 


190  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"He — is  royal,"  said  Lochiel  softly.  "That  is  all.  Put 
him  in  peasant's  homespun,  with  his  lovelocks  shorn,  he'd  be 
still — why,  just  the  Stuart,  reigning  from  the  hilltops  over 
us." 

"And,  Lochiel,  you  talked  of  heartbreak.  We're  lesser 
men,  and  can  jog  along  somehow  if  the  worst  comes.  The 
Prince  cannot.  The  heart  of  him — it's  like  a  well-grown 
oak,  Lochiel;  it  will  stand  upright  to  the  storm,  or  it  will 
break.  There  is  no  middle  way." 

So  then  Lochiel  remembered  he  would  be  late  for  the 
Council  if  he  stayed  longer  in  the  windy  street.  "  There 
never  was  a  middle  way,"  he  said.  "  You,  sir — and  the 
Prince,  God  bless  him! — and  Lochiel  of  the  many  weak- 
nesses, we  never  trod  the  middle  way." 

And  somehow  a  great  sorrow  and  great  liking  came  to 
them,  as  if  they  were  brothers  parting  in  the  thick  of  a 
stormy  night  where  ways  divided. 

"  We  shall  meet  soon  again,"  said  Lochiel,  the  foolish 
trouble  in  his  voice.  "And,  either  way  this  Council  goes, 
we'll  find  a  strip  of  blue  sky  over  us,  Sir  Jasper." 

He  swung  down  the  street,  his  head  upright  and  his  figure 
lithe  and  masterful.  He  might,  to  all  outward  seeming,  have 
been  going  to  his  own  wedding.  For  that  was  Lochiel's  way 
when  hope  and  courage  were  at  their  lowest  ebb,  when  he  con- 
quered his  weakness  by  disdaining  it. 

And  Sir  Jasper  watched  him  go — watched  other  chieftains 
hurrying,  with  grave,  set  faces,  to  the  Council.  And  then, 
for  three  long  hours,  he  paced  the  streets.  What  Ru- 
pert, his  heir,  was  learning  there  at  Windyhough  the  father 
learned  during  this  time  of  waiting  for  the  news.  The  chiefs 
were  in  the  thick  of  debate,  were  speaking  out  their  minds, 
were  guessing,  from  the  shifting  issues  of  the  Council,  which 
way  the  wind  was  sitting.  They  were  in  the  fighting-line  at 
least ;  but  he,  whose  heart  was  centred  wholly  on  this  Council 
that  would  settle  all,  was  compelled  to  stand  by  helpless  to 
serve  his  Prince  by  word  or  deed. 


HOW  THE  PIPES  PLAYED  DREARILY          191 

He  was  not  alone.  It  was  an  open  secret  that,  behind  the 
closed  doors  of  the  Council  Chamber,  men  were  deciding 
whether  retreat  or  advance  should  be  the  day's  marching- 
order.  Discipline  was  ended  for  awhile.  The  Highlanders 
could  not  rest  in  their  lodgings,  but  stood  about  the  streets 
in  crowds,  or  in  little  knots,  seeking  what  make-believe  Derby 
town  could  give  them  of  the  free  air  and  the  big,  roomy  hills 
that,  in  gladness  or  in  sorrow,  were  needful  to  them  as  the 
•food  they  ate.  The  townsfolk,  stirred  from  their  sleepi- 
ness by  all  this  hubbub  of  tattered,  rain-sodden  men  who  were 
bent  on  some  errand  dimly  understood,  mixed  with  the 
soldiery,  and  asked  foolish  questions,  and  got  few  answers, 
because  the  most  part  of  the  army  spoke  only  Gaelic. 

The  whole  town,  though  men's  voices  were  low  and  hushed, 
was  alive  with  that  stress  of  feeling  which  is  like  a  brewing 
thunderstorm.  Men  gathered  into  crowds,  saying  little, 
affect  each  other,  till  each  feels  in  his  own  person  the  sum 
total  of  his  neighbour's  restlessness;  and  for  that  reason 
armies  yield  suddenly  to  a  bewildering  panic,  or  to  a  selfless 
courage  that  leads  to  high  victories  in  face  of  odds. 

The  wind  swept  down  the  streets  of  Derby.  The  rain  was 
tireless.  It  did  not  matter.  To  Sir  Jasper — to  the  men  of 
Lancashire,  and  the  Highlandmen  who  were  old  to  sorrow  of 
the  hills — there  was  nothing  mattered,  save  the  news  for 
which  they  waited.  And  the  time  dragged  on.  And  still 
the  Council  doors  were  shut. 

Then,  late  in  the  afternoon,  Lord  Murray  came  out,  and 
walked  up  the  street,  with  half  a  dozen  of  his  intimates  be- 
side him.  And,  a  little  later,  Lochiel  came  out,  alone,  and, 
after  him,  the  Duke  of  Perth,  alone.  And  Sir  Jasper,  stand- 
ing near  the  Council  Chamber,  knew  at  a  glance  which  side 
had  won  the  day. 

Last  of  all — a  long  while  after,  so  it  seemed  to  Sir  Jasper 
— the  Prince  crossed  the  threshold,  stood  for  a  moment,  as  if 
stunned,  with  the  rain  and  the  spiteful  wind  against  his  cheek. 
He  was  like  one  grown  old  before  his  time— one  bent  and 


192  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

broken  up  by  some  disaster  that  had  met  his  manhood  by  the 
way. 

Then,  as  Lochiel  had  done  when  he  went  down  the  street 
to  this  unhappy  Council,  the  Prince  lifted  his  head,  squared 
his  shoulders  to  the  wind,  and  stepped  out  between  the  silent 
bystanders  as  if  life  were  a  jest  to  him.  So  then  Sir  Jasper 
was  sure  that  retreat  was  the  order  of  the  day;  was  sure, 
too,  that  his  Prince  had  never  shown  so  simple  and  conspic- 
uous a  gallantry  as  he  did  now,  when  he  moved  through  the 
people  as  if  he  went  to  victory,  not  to  a  heartache  that  would 
last  him  till  he  lay,  dead  and  at  peace,  beside  his  Stuart  kins- 
men. 

At  dawn  of  the  next  day  the  retreat  began.  It  was  a  red 
dawn  and  a  stormy,  though  the  rain  had  ceased,  and  the 
wisp  of  a  dying  moon  was  lying  on  her  back  above  the  dis- 
mal housetops. 

The  Prince  stood  aside  and  watched  it  all.  A  little  while 
before  he  had  bidden  Lord  Murray  ride  at  the  head  of  the 
outgoing  army.  "  I  have  no  strategy,  my  lord,"  he  had  said, 
with  chiselled  irony.  "  I  lead  only  when  attack  comes  from 
the  front."  And  Sir  Jasper,  with  the  instinct  of  old  loyalty 
and  new-found,  passionate  liking  for  the  man,  had  drawn  his 
own  horse  near  to  the  Prince's  bridle;  and  they  waited,  the 
two  of  them,  till  the  sad  procession  passed,  as  if  to  burial  of 
their  finest  hopes. 

Not  till  Derby's  life  is  ended  will  she  hear  such  trouble 
and  such  master-music  as  went  up  and  down  her  streets  on 
that  disastrous,  chilly  dawn.  The  Highlanders  were  strong 
and  simple-hearted  men.  They  had  obeyed  their  leaders, 
rather  than  the  Prince  who  had  sounded  the  forward  note  of 
battle.  But  no  old  allegiance  could  silence  their  pipers,  who 
played  a  dirge  to  Prince  Charles  Edward,  heir  to  the  English 
throne. 

By  one  consent,  it  seemed,  the  pipers,  as  they  went  by  their 
Prince,  played  only  the  one  air.  Low,  insistent,  mournful  as 
the  mists  about  their  own  wild  hills,  the  air  roamed  up  and 


HOW  THE  PIPES  PLAYED  DREARILY          193 

down  the  wet,  quiet  streets,  till  it  seemed  there  had  been  no 
other  music  since  the  world  began.  There  was  no  hope,  no 
quick  compelling  glamour,  as  of  old ;  the  pipes,  it  seemed,  were 
broken-hearted  like  their  leader,  and  they  could  only  play  for 
sorrow. 

Up  and  down  the  long,  mean  street,  and  down  and  up, 
between  the  wet  house-fronts  that  reared  themselves  to  the 
dying  moon  and  the  red  murk  of  the  dawn,  the  music  roamed. 
And  always  it  was  the  same  air — the  dirge  known  as  "  The 
Flowers  of  the  Forest,"  which  was  brought  to  birth  when  the 
Scots  lost  Flodden  Field.  Since  Flodden,  generation  after 
generation,  men  skilled  at  the  pipes  had  taught  their  growing 
youngsters  the  way  of  it;  and  now  the  ripe  training  of  the 
fathers  had  gathered  to  a  head.  No  pipers  ever  played,  or  ever 
will  again,  as  those  who  greeted  the  Prince  as  they  passed  by 
him — greeted  him,  with  sadness  and  with  music,  as  heroes  sa- 
lute a  comrade  proven  and  well-loved. 

The  riders  and  the  men  on  foot  went  by.  The  tread  of 
hoofs,  the  tread  of  feet,  was  slow  and  measured,  as  the  tread 
of  mourners  is ;  and  down  and  up,  and  up  and  down,  the  echoes 
of  the  pipes'  lament  roamed  through  Derby's  street.  It  was 
an  hour — and  there  are  few  such — when  men,  with  their 
strength  and  their  infirmities,  and  their  rooted  need  of  battle, 
grow  tender  and  outspoken  as  little  children,  who  have  found 
no  need  as  yet  to  face  life  in  the  open. 

The  Prince  and  Sir  Jasper  were  alone.  The  fighting  men 
had  passed  them,  and  the  chattering  townsfolk.  And  from 
afar,  down  the  silence  of  the  empty  street,  the  sorrow  of  the 
pipes  came  with  a  low,  recurring  lilt. 

Lochiel,  not  long  ago,  had  sounded  the  right  note.  They 
were  children,  Sir  Jasper  and  his  Prince,  gathered  round  their 
mothers'  knees  again  ;  and,  through  the  murk  of  Derby's  street, 
and  through  the  falling  sorrow  of  the  music,  God  spoke  to 
them,  as  if  they  needed,  in  this  hour  of  extreme  weakness,  to 
reach  out  and  hold  with  firm  hands  the  faith  that  was  slipping 
from  their  grasp. 


194  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

And  the  moment  passed,  leaving  them  the  sadder,  but  the 
stronger  for  it.  And  they  were  men  again — comrades,  facing 
a  disastrous  world.  And  presently  they  rode  slowly  out  of 
Derby,  and  took  the  long  road  north  again ;  and  between  them 
fell  a  silence  chill  and  heavy  as  the  rain  that  never  ceased  to 
whip  the  puddles  of  the  highway. 

"  Your  eyes  are  wet,  Sir  Jasper,"  said  the  Prince,  turning 
sharply  from  the  thoughts  that  were  too  heavy  to  be  borne. 

"  So  are  yours,  your  Highness,"  the  other  answered  gruffly. 

"  Well,  then,  we'll  blame  the  pipes  for  it.  I  think — there's 
something  broken  in  me,  sir,  since — since  Derby;  but  no  man 
in  my  army,  except  yourself,  shall  ever  guess  as  much.  We 
shall  be  gay,  Sir  Jasper,  since  need  asks." 

A  few  hours  later  a  motley  company  of  horse — three-and- 
twenty  strong — rode  into  Derby.  Some  half-dozen  of  the 
riders  were  English,  but  the  rest,  and  the  officer  in  command, 
were  Hessian  soldiery.  The  officer,  one  Captain  Goldstein, 
spoke  English  with  some  fluency;  and  his  business  here,  it 
seemed,  was  to  gather  from  the  townsfolk  such  details  of  the 
retreat  as  they  could  furnish. 

They  spent  less  than  an  hour  in  the  town,  snatched  a  hurried 
meal — for  which,  unlike  the  Prince's  men,  they  did  not  pay — 
and  rode  back  as  fast  as  they  could  set  hoofs  to  ground  to  the 
main  body  of  the  Duke  of  Cumberland's  army,  which  had  been 
hanging  on  the  rear  of  the  Stuart's  men  for  many  days,  hoping 
always  to  overtake  them,  and  always  finding  them  a  few  leagues 
nearer  London  than  themselves. 

Captain  Goldstein  went  straight  to  the  Duke's  lodgings,  and 
the  sentry  passed  him  in  without  demur  when  his  challenge 
had  been  answered. 

"  Ah,  good ! "  said  Cumberland  gruffly,  looking  up  from  a 
map  which  he  was  studying.  "  What  news  from  Derby  ?  " 

"  The  best  news.  They've  turned  tail,  though  we  could  not 
credit  the  rumours  that  came  into  camp.  Derby  is  empty,  your 
Grace." 

The  two  men  were  oddly  like  each  other,  as  they  stood  in  the 


HOW  THE  PIPES  PLAYED  DREARILY          195 

lamplit  room.  They  were  big  and  fleshy,  both  of  them;  and 
each  had  the  thick,  loose  lips,  the  heavy  jaw,  that  go  with  an 
aggressive  lust  for  the  coarser  vices,  an  aggressive  ambition, 
and  a  cruelty  in  the  handling  of  all  hindrances. 

Cumberland  drained  the  tankard  at  his  elbow,  thrust  his 
boots  a  little  nearer  to  the  fire-blaze.  "  What  fools  these  Stu- 
arts are !  "  he  said  lazily. 

"  By  your  leave,  no,"  said  Captain  Goldstein,  wishing  to  be 
exact  in  detail.  "  From  all  I  gathered,  it  was  not  the  Pre- 
tender, but  the  leaders  of  the  clans,  who  forced  the  retreat." 

"  Well,  either  way,  it's  laughable.  The  Elector  bars  their 
way  at  Finchley  with  ten  thousand  men ;  it  sounds  formidable, 
Goldstein,  eh  ?  but  we  know  what  a  rotten  nut  that  is  to  crack. 
And  I  could  not  overtake  them ;  they  march  with  such  cursed 
speed ;  and  poor  old  Marshal  Wade,  supposed  to  be  converging 
from  the  north,  is  always  a  week  late  for  the  fair.  They  held 
the  cards;  and,  Goldstein,  are  you  jesting  when  you  say  that 
they've  retreated  ?  " 

"  I  never  jest,  your  Grace.  Derby  is  empty,  I  say ;  and  it  is 
not  my  place  to  suggest  that  you  order  boot-and-saddle  to  be 
sounded." 

"  No,"  snarled  Cumberland,  facing  round  on  this  officer 
whom  he  was  wont  to  kick  or  caress,  according  to  his  mood. 
"  No,  Goldstein,  it  is  not  your  place.  Your  place?  You'd  be 
housed  in  the  kennels  if  you  had  your  proper  lodgings.  I  res- 
cued you  from  that  sort  of  neighbourhood,  because  you  seemed 
to  have  the  makings  of  a  soldier  in  you." 

"  They'll  retreat  with  speed,  as  they  advanced.  The  wind's 
in  the  feet  of  these  Highlanders,"  said  Goldstein  stubbornly. 

"  We  shall  catch  them  up.  To-day  I've  much  to  do,  Gold- 
stein— an  assignation  with  the  miller's  buxom  daughter,  a  mile 
outside  the  camp ;  she's  waiting  for  me  now." 

"  She'll  wait,  sir,  till  your  return.  You  have  that  gift  with 
women." 

Cumberland  stirred  lazily,  got  to  his  feet.  He  was  pleased 
by  this  flattery  that  was  clumsy  as  his  own  big,  unwholesome 


196  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

body.  "She'll  wait,  you  think?  Well,  let  her  wait.  Women 
are  best  trained  that  way.  There,  Goldstein,  I  was  only  jest- 
ing. You  broke  the  good  news  too  sharply.  They've  re- 
treated? Say  it  again.  Oh,  the  fools  these  Stuarts  are!  I 
must  drink  another  measure  to  their  health." 

A  little  later  the  whole  Hanoverian  army  moved  north. 
Cumberland  was  keen  and  happy,  because  he  saw  butchery  and 
renown  within  his  grasp.  Through  days  and  weeks  of  hard- 
ship over  sloppy  roads  he  had  hunted  the  Stuart  whom  he 
loathed,  had  found  him  constantly  elude  pursuit.  And  now, 
it  seemed,  his  hour  of  triumph  was  at  hand.  And  triumph,  to 
his  Grace  of  Cumberland,  meant  always,  not  pardon  of  his  ene- 
mies, but  revenge. 

"  They  leave  us  a  plain  track  to  follow,"  he  said  to  Goldstein 
as,  near  midday,  after  riding  slantwise  from  their  camp  to 
strike  the  northern  road,  eight  miles  north  of  Derby,  they  came 
from  muddied  bridle-paths  to  a  highway  that  was  deep  in  tram- 
pled slush.  "They  were  nimble  in  advance,  but  retreat  will 
have  another  tale  to  tell.  We  shall  catch  them  to-morrow,  or 
the  next  day  after." 

And  Goldstein  agreed ;  but  he  did  not  tell  all  he  knew — how 
he  had  learned  from  the  Derby  townsfolk  that  the  Prince  rode 
far  behind  his  army,  attended  only  by  one  horseman.  Instead, 
he  spoke  of  the  commission  he  held,  as  officer  in  command  of  a 
roving  troop  of  cavalry,  and  asked  if  he  might  be  free  to  harass 
the  retreat. 

"  We  ride  lighter  than  your  main  body,  your  Highness,  and 
could  pick  off  stragglers  as  well  as  bring  news  of  the  route 
these  ragged  Pretender's  men  are  taking." 

"  Yes,  ride  forward,"  growled  Cumberland,  "  You've  the 
pick  of  my  scoundrels  with  you,  Goldstein — hard  riders  and 
coarse  feeders — they'll  help  you  pick  off  stragglers." 

The  two  men  exchanged  a  glance  of  understanding.  Dif- 
ference of  rank  apart,  they  were  brotherly  in  the  instincts  that 
they  shared ;  and  his  Grace  of  Cumberland,  from  his  youth  up, 
had  had  a  gift  for  choosing  his  friends  among  those  who  rode 


HOW  THE  PIPES  PLAYED  DREARILY          197 

unencumbered  by  conscience,  or  pity,  or  any  sort  of  tenderness. 
And,  as  he  had  said  just  now,  he  found  them  mostly  in  the  ken- 
nels. 

"  One  word,"  said  Cumberland,  as  the  other  prepared  to  ride 
forward.  "There's  no  quarter  to  be  given.  For  the  coun- 
try's sake — for  the  safety  of  the  King — we  shall  make  an  ex- 
ample of  these  rebels." 

Goldstein  glanced  warily  at  him,  to  see  if  he  jested  and 
looked  for  an  answering  wink.  But  it  pleased  the  Duke  to  as- 
sume an  air  which  he  thought  royal. 

"  An  example,  you  understand  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  Tell  these 
gentle  devils  of  yours  that  they  can  ride  on  a  free  rein.  If  you 
scotch  a  Pretender's  man,  put  your  heel  on  him  and  kill  him 
outright.  Our  royal  safety — England's  safety — depends  on 
it." 

Goldstein,  as  he  spurred  forward  to  gather  his  cavalry  to- 
gether, grinned  pleasantly.  "  Our  royal  safety — England's 
safety,"  he  muttered,  mimicking  the  Duke's  rough,  broken  ac- 
cent. "  He's  got  it  pat  by  heart,  though  it  seems  yesterday  he 
crossed  from  Hanover." 

He  gathered  his  men,  and  rode  forward  at  their  head  through 
the  rain  and  the  sleety  mud  that  marked  the  passage  of  the 
Highlanders.  And  when  they  had  gone  three  miles  or  so  on 
the  northern  road,  they  captured  a  frightened  countryman, 
who  was  getting  his  sheep  down  from  the  pastures  in  anticipa- 
tion of  the  coming  snow.  It  was  the  first  blood  they  had  drawn 
in  this  campaign,  and  Goldstein  made  the  most  of  it.  He  liked 
to  have  a  weak  thing  at  his  mercy,  and  he  spared  the  farmer  no 
threat  of  what  would  follow  if  he  failed  to  tell  the  truth.  For 
his  pains,  he  learned  that  the  Highlanders  were  marching  fast 
along  the  northern  road,  five  hours  ahead  of  them.  He  learned, 
too,  that  one  who  answered  to  the  Prince's  description  still  rode 
behind  his  army,  and  that  he  was  accompanied  only  by  one  gen- 
tleman on  horseback. 

They  went  forward,  leaving  the  countryman  half-dazed  with 
fright ;  and  presently  Goldstein's  men  began  to  murmur  at  the 


198  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

hardships  of  the  road.  A  rough  company  at  best,  united  only 
by  a  common  lust  of  pillage  and  rapine,  they  needed  a  firmer 
hand  on  them  than  one  promoted  from  their  own  ranks  could 
give. 

Goldstein,  knowing  this,  drew  them  up  in  line.  And  first  he 
stormed  at  them,  without  avail ;  for  they  were  harder  swearers 
than  himself,  and  missed  that  crisp,  adventurous  flow  of  tongue 
which  comes  to  gentlemen-officers  at  these  times.  So  then, 
seeing  them  mutinous  and  like  to  get  further  out  of  hand  the 
more  he  stormed,  he  grinned  pleasantly  at  them.  "  My  orders 
from  the  Duke,"  he  said,  "  are  to  capture  the  Pretender,  dead 
or  alive,  before  he  gets  back  to  Scotland.  There's  thirty  thou- 
sand pounds  on  his  head.  He  rides  alone  behind  his  army,  as 
you  heard  just  now,  and  we  shall  share  the  plunder." 

The  appeal  went  home  this  time,  for  Goldstein  knew  his  men. 
They  bivouacked  that  night  four  miles  wide  of  Macclesfield,  in 
Cheshire,  and  the  next  day — the  sun  showing  his  face  at  last 
through  tattered,  grey-blue  clouds — they  came  in  sight  of  the 
Stuart  army.  They  had  crossed  by  a  bridle-track  which,  from 
a  little  knoll,  gave  them  a  view  of  the  long,  straight  highway 
that  stretched,  a  grey,  rain-sodden  ribbon,  between  the  empty 
fields.  They  saw  kilted  men  go  by,  and  horsemen  riding  at  a 
foot  pace ;  and  they  heard  the  pipes  that  could  not  anyway  be 
still,  as  they  played  that  air  of  "  The  Flowers  of  the  Forest " 
which  was  both  dirge  and  battle-song.  And  Goldstein,  some- 
where under  the  thick  hide  he  carried  like  a  suit  of  armour, 
was  stirred  by  the  strength  and  forlornness  of  it  all.  He  saw 
great-hearted  men  go  by,  shoulders  carried  square  against  re- 
treat, and,  in  some  crude,  muddled  fashion,  he  understood  that 
they  were  of  fibre  stronger  than  his  own.  He  sat  there  in  sad- 
dle, moodily  watching  the  horse  and  foot  go  by.  There  was 
no  chance  as  yet  to  pick  off  stragglers,  for  the  army  kept  in 
close  order;  yet  Goldstein  waited  after  the  last  company  had 
ridden  by — they  chanced  to  be  the  MacDonald  clan — as  if  he 
looked  for  some  happening  on  the  empty  road  below. 

And  presently,  while  his  men  began  to  fidget  under  this  in- 


HOW  THE  PIPES  PLAYED  DREARILY          199 

action  in  the  rain,  two  horsemen  came  round  the  bend  of  the 
highway.  The  Prince  and  Sir  Jasper  were  riding  together 
still,  but  were  talking  no  longer  of  the  Rising  and  retreat.  In- 
stead, they  were  laughing  at  some  tale  the  Prince  had  lately 
brought  from  France;  and  Sir  Jasper  was  bettering  French 
wit  by  a  story,  rough  and  racy  and  smelling  of  the  soil,  which 
he  had  heard  at  the  last  meet  of  hounds  in  Lancashire  before 
he  set  out  on  this  sterner  ride.  For  women,  when  they  are 
heartsick,  find  ease  in  rending  characters  to  shreds,  especially 
sister-women's;  but  men  need  the  honest  ease  of  laughter, 
whether  the  jest  be  broad  or  subtle. 

"  Sir  Jasper,"  said  the  Prince,  "  you're  vastly  likeable. 
When  I  come  to  my  own,  you  shall  dine  with  me  and  set  the 
table  in  a  roar.  Meanwhile — a  pinch  of  snuff  with  you." 

Sir  Jasper  dusted  his  nostrils,  with  the  spacious  air  that  set 
well  on  him.  And  then,  from  old  habit,  he  glanced  up,  in  search 
of  the  hills  that  were  food  and  drink  to  him  in  time  of  trouble. 
He  saw  no  hills  worth  the  name;  but,  for  lack  of  them,  his 
eyes  rested  on  a  mound,  wide  of  his  bridle-hand,  which  from 
lack  of  true  proportion  the  country-folk  named  Big  Blue  Hill. 
There  was  little  inspiration  to  be  gathered  from  the  mound; 
so  he  looked  out  with  his  world's  eyes  again,  and  saw  that  there 
were  horsemen  gathered  on  the  rise,  and  that  they  wore  the 
enemy's  livery. 

"  Your  Highness,  we  must  gallop,"  he  said  briefly. 

The  Prince,  following  his  glance,  saw  Goldstein  plucking  his 
horse  into  a  trot.  "  I  prefer  to  wait,"  he  said  lazily.  "  It  is  a 
skirmish  of  this  sort  I  hoped  for." 

"  And  your  Highlanders  ?  We're  in  the  open  without  a  wall 
to  set  our  backs  to.  You  dare  not  leave  your  Highlanders." 

"  True,  I  dare  not."  He  glanced  wistfully  at  the  down-rid- 
ing men,  as  if  death  in  the  open  were  easier  to  him  just  now 
than  life.  "  It  is  retreat  once  more?  Dear  God,  I  must  have 
sinned,  to  have  this  sickness  put  on  me! " 

"  Our  horses  are  fresh.  We'll  give  them  Tally-Ho,  your 
Highness." 


200  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

Through  the  darkness  and  the  trouble  of  his  soul,  through 
the  wish  to  die  here  and  now  and  lie  in  forgetfulness  of  Derby 
and  retreat,  the  Prince  caught  up  some  tattered  remnants  of 
the  Stuart  courage.  It  was  easy  to  wait,  sword  ready,  for  the 
oncoming ;  but  it  was  hard  to  gallop  from  an  enemy  he  loathed. 
Yet  from  the  discipline  of  that  long  peril  shared  with  his  men, 
since  they  came  on  the  forlorn  hope  from  Scotland,  the  strength 
that  does  not  fail  returned  to  Prince  Charles  Edward.  He  set 
his  mare — Nance  Demaine's  mare — to  the  gallop ;  and  Sir  Jas- 
per rode  keen  and  hard  beside  him;  and  Goldstein  found  his 
heavy  horse  slip  and  lurch  under  him,  as  all  his  company  did 
while  they  blundered  in  pursuit.  Goldstein  followed  headlong. 
Three  of  his  troopers  came  to  ground  in  galloping  down  a 
greasy  slope,  and  their  leader,  if  he  had  been  a  worse  horse- 
man, would  have  shared  the  same  fate.  As  it  was,  he  kept 
forward,  and  at  a  bend  of  the  road  saw,  half  a  mile  ahead, 
the  company  of  MacDonalds  who  kept  the  rear  of  the  Stuart 
army. 

"  Well,  it's  not  to-day  we  catch  him,"  he  snapped,  reining  up 
and  facing  the  ill-tempered  men  behind  him.  "  We  can  bide 
our  time." 

"  Aye,  we've  been  biding  a  good  while,"  growled  a  weather- 
beaten  trooper.  "  Whichever  way  his  back's  turned,  this 
cursed  Pretender  always  slips  out  of  reach." 

"  The  money's  on  his  head,  you  fools !  "  snapped  Goldstein. 
"You'll  mutiny  against  God  or  man,  but  not  against  thirty 
thousand  pounds,  if  I  know  your  breed.  There's  to-morrow ; 
we  shall  catch  him  soon  or  late,  while  this  mood  is  on  him  to 
ride  behind  his  army." 

They  were  sobered  by  this  hint  of  money.  For  they  were 
men  who  plied  for  hire,  and  only  hire.  And  that  night  they 
encamped  on  the  outskirts  of  Manchester,  where  the  Prince's 
army  lay,  and  dreamed  they  were  rich  men  all.  And  the  next 
morning  they  were  almost  cheerful,  this  ragged  cavalry  of 
Goldstein's,  because  the  day's  hunt  was  up,  and  because  their 
view  of  the  Rising  was  narrowed  to  each  man's  share  of  the 


HOW  THE  PIPES  PLAYED  DREARILY          201 

blood-money  when  they  took  Prince  Charles  Edward,  dead  or 
alive. 

Up  at  Windyhough,  in  Lancashire,  this  same  red  dawn  had 
shone  through  the  open  window  of  Rupert's  bedchamber,  rous- 
ing him  from  uneasy  slumber.  He  had  gone  to  the  casement, 
and  was  looking  out  at  the  grim  majestic  moors.  Line  after 
line  the  rugged  spurs  and  knolls  strode  up  from  the  night  mists 
into  the  crimson  and  purple  that  gained  in  splendour  every 
moment.  Of  a  truth,  it  was  a  man's  land ;  and  the  thought 
goaded  Rupert  into  deep  and  passionate  self-pity,  as  it  had 
always  done.  Over  the  hills  yonder  his  father  rode  beside 
the  Stuart — men  going  on  a  manly  errand.  Perhaps  they 
had  fought  their  big  battle  already,  were  hastening  to  a  Lon- 
don eager  to  receive  the  conquerors.  And  he?  He  was 
playing  at  the  defence  of  a  house  remote  from  any  chance 
of  action.  And  there  was  Nance,  waiting  for  him  to  prove 
himself,  growing  cold  and  contemptuous  because  each  new  day 
found  him  still  Rupert  the  Dreamer,  inept,  irritable,  a  burden 
to  himself  and  others. 

Perhaps,  out  of  the  sympathy  that  had  always  bound  Sir 
Jasper  and  his  heir  together,  the  like  mood  had  come  to  both 
just  now,  the  like  need  to  face  a  stern  and  awful  sickness  of 
the  soul,  to  win  through  it,  to  plant  Faith's  standard  in  the  wil- 
derness of  defeat  and  hope  deferred. 

"  Nance  was  right.  Nothing  will  ever  again  happen  at  Win- 
dyhough, until  my  father  returns  from  the  crowning — and  then 
the  work  will  be  done,  and  no  more  need  of  me." 

Stubbornly,  slowly,  he  came  to  a  better  heart  and  mind.  Un- 
doubtedly this  scholar  had  pluck. 

"  I  will  not  give  in,"  he  said,  lifting  his  head  to  the  ruddy 
heath  as  if  answering  a  challenge. 

»And  at  that  hour  the  Prince  and  his  father  were  riding  north 
from  Derby — were  riding  nearer  to  him  than  he  thought,  on  a 
journey  whose  end  no  man  could  foresee. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  TALE  COMES   TO   WINDYHOUGH 

NEARLY  a  week  had  gone  since  Nance  came  down  from  her 
ride  on  the  moor,  from  the  meeting  with  Will  Underwood  that 
had  ruined  one  dream  of  her  life  for  good  and  all.  Each  day 
that  passed  was  more  full  of  strain  for  those  at  Windyhough. 
They  practised  musketry  together,  she  and  Rupert  and  old 
Simon  Foster;  and  the  rivalry  between  them,  keen  enough, 
improved  their  marksmanship.  At  the  week's  end  Rupert  was 
the  best  shot  of  the  three ;  it  was  his  way  to  be  thorough,  and 
to  this  business  of  countering  Nance's  taunt — that  she  could 
not  trust  her  men  to  guard  her — he  brought  the  same  untiring 
zeal,  the  patience  not  to  be  dismayed,  that  had  kept  his  faith 
secure  against  disastrous  odds. 

But  as  each  short  day  closed  in  there  was  the  return  to  the 
silence  of  the  house  at  Windyhough,  to  Lady  Royd's  wonder 
if  her  husband  were  lying  dead  in  some  south  country  ditch, 
to  the  yapping  of  the  toy  spaniel  that  harassed  Rupert  because, 
soul  and  body,  he  was  tired  of  mimic  warfare. 

They  had  come  home  this  afternoon  from  musket-drill,  and 
Simon  had  left  them  in  the  courtyard.  A  little,  sobbing  wind 
was  fluting  round  the  gables,  and  the  red  light  on  the  hills 
foretold,  unerringly,  that  snow  would  come. 

Nance  looked  up  at  the  black  front  of  Windyhough.  The 
homeless  desolation  of  the  land  took  hold  of  her.  She  was 
cold,  and  tired  of  all  things ;  and  she  sought  for  some  relief, 
and  could  find  none,  save  by  way  of  the  tongue  that  is  woman's 
rapier. 

"What  of  your  trust,  Rupert?"  she  asked  sharply.  "A 
week  ago — it  seems  half  a  lifetime — you  said  there  would  be 
some  swift  attack — you  said  that  you  had  faith.  Faith,  my 

202 


THE  TALE  COMES  TO  WINDYHOUGH         203 

dear — I  tell  you  it  is  cold  and  empty  as  the  wind.  Your  only 
answer  is — why,  just  your  mother's  spaniel  barking  at  you 
from  within.  Faith  should  know  the  master's  footstep,  Ru- 
pert." 

He  had  been  sick  at  heart  till  now.  The  answer  had  not 
come  as  soon  as  he  had  hoped,  and  his  need  was  urgent;  but 
the  faith  in  him  rose  clear  and  dominant. 

"  You're  a  baby,  Nance.  You  talked  of  half  a  lifetime.  I 
could  wait  so  long  in  patience,  knowing  the  Stuart,  soon  or 
late,  would  come  to  the  good  crowning." 

She  glanced  at  him  with  impatience,  with  a  certain 
wistful  curiosity.  "  Does  your  creed  go  deep  as  that,  Rupert  ? 
Mine  does  not,"  she  said,  with  her  frank,  bewildering 
honesty. 

"  My  creed  ? "  Rupert's  shoulders  were  squared  in  earnest 
now.  He  stood  to  his  full  six  feet,  and  in  his  eyes  was  that 
look  of  the  man  who  cannot  be  bought,  or  bullied,  or  flattered, 
from  allegiance  to  the  straight  road  ahead.  "  It  goes  deeper, 
Nance.  What  else?  Faith!  You  seem  to  think  it  means 
only  kneeling  in  a  church,  a  woman's  refuge  from  the  outside 
storms,  a  ball  to  play  with,  when  the  time  seems  slow  in  pass- 
ing." 

"  You  will  tell  me  more,"  said  Nance  gently. 

"  I  cannot.  Go  to  Sir  Jasper,  who  can  use  a  sword ;  go  to 
your  father,  who  can  fight  and  hunt  and  play  the  man  wherever 
men  are  gathered.  They  kneel  in  church,  Nance — and  in  the 
open  roads  they  feel  their  swords  the  cleaner  for  it ;  they  carry 
knighthood  with  them,  so  that  clowns  read  it  in  their  faces  as 
they  pass." 

"  Who  taught  you  this  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  laughed,  with  the  diffidence  and  self-contempt  that  al- 
ways lay  in  ambush  for  him.  "  I  dreamed  it,  maybe.  You 
always  said  I  was  a  dreamer,  Nance — a  fool,  you  meant,  but 
were  too  kind  to  think  it." 

So  they  stood  there,  in  the  cold  and  ruddy  gloaming,  and 
were  helpless  to  find  speech  together.  All  that  lay  deep  in 


204  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

Nance,  secure  beneath  each  day's  indignities,  went  out  to  this 
heir  of  Windyhough.  His  view  of  life  was  hers;  his  roots 
were  m  the  soil,  tilled  lovingly  by  far-back  fathers,  that  breeds 
the  strong  plants  of  chivalry.  And  yet — and  yet  he  was  so 
fitful  in  his  moods,  so  apart  from  the  needs  of  every  day,  so 
galling  to  the  women  who  looked,  as  a  matter  of  course,  for 
their  men  to  go  out  into  the  open. 

And  then,  following  some  odd  byway  of  memory,  she  re- 
called how  grim  and  steady  and  reliant  he  had  been  that  win- 
ter's day — it  seemed  long  since — when  he  had  sent  Will  Un- 
derwood and  herself  down  the  moor  while  he  prepared  to 
fight  out  the  quarrel  with  his  younger  brother. 

"  Rupert,"  she  said,  seeking  for  some  way  of  praising  him, 
"  you  shot  well  to-day." 

"  Yes,"  he  growled.  "  I  outshot  a  woman,  Nance — and  a 
man  who  was  crippled  in  every  joint  he  owned.  I  take  no 
praise  for  that.  As  men  count  shooting,  I'm  where  I  always 
stood — your  patient  fool,  Nance." 

So  they  stood  helpless  there,  one  aching  with  the  love  he  had 
— each  day  of  this  close  companionship  making  Nance  more 
lovable  and  more  far  off — the  other  stifled  by  her  pity  for  this 
heir  of  Windyhough,  who  needed  so  little  to  touch  his  man- 
hood into  living  flame. 

And  as  they  stood  a  horseman  came  clattering  up.  There 
was  mud  on  his  horse,  so  that  none  could  have  told  whether  it 
were  roan  or  black  or  chestnut.  There  was  mud  on  his  clothes, 
and  on  his  hands,  and  on  his  lean,  strained  face.  As  he  reined 
up  sharply,  his  gift  of  knowing  faces  and  their  records  did  not 
fail  him. 

"  You're  Sir  Jasper's  son  ? "  he  said.  "  I'm  glad,  sir,  to 
meet  you  out  of  doors,  for  it  will  save  me  time." 

Rupert  was  aware  of  some  sense  of  betterment.  Dimly,  and 
far  off  as  yet,  he  saw  the  answer  to  his  faith  take  shape  and 
substance.  "  I  remember  you,  sir,"  he  answered  gravely. 
"  You  are  Mr.  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse,  and  once  you — you 
praised  my  shortcomings.  You — you  helped  me,  sir,  that  night 


205 

you  came  to  Windyhough.  You  do  not  guess  the  debt  I  owe 
you." 

Oliphant,  sick  with  hard  riding,  more  sick  with  the  disas- 
trous news  that  he  was  bringing  to  the  loyal  north,  halted  for 
remembrance  of  that  night  when  he  had  come  to  Sir  Jasper's 
and  found  Lady  Royd  and  a  slim,  nerve-ridden  lad  who  was 
vastly  like  his  own  dead  self,  buried  long  ago  under  the  hills  of 
fine  endeavour. 

"  By  your  leave,  sir,"  he  said,  gently  as  if  the  pipes  were 
sobbing  for  dead  hopes,  "  I  think  you've  pluck  enough  to  hear 
bad  news  and  take  it  like  a  soldier.  All's  lost — at  Derby — and 
the  Prince's  men  are  coming  north  again." 

Nance  went  apart  and  put  weak,  foolish  hands  about  her 
eyes.  There  could  be  no  resurrection,  she  fancied,  from  this 
death  in  life  that  was  meant  by  the  retreat  from  Derby.  But 
Rupert  held  his  head  up  and  looked  at  Oliphant  with  steady 
eyes.  The  blow  was  sudden  and  bewildering;  this  retreat  cut 
deep  into  his  faith,  his  certainty  that  the  Prince  could  not  fail 
to  carry  London ;  and  his  shoulders  broadened  to  the  burden, 
so  that  he  carried  it  well — almost  lightly,  as  it  seemed  to  Nance. 

"My  father — he  is  safe,  sir?"  he  asked  quietly. 

"  Yes,  safe ;  but  his  temper  is  like  a  watch-dog's  on  the 
chain " 

"  He'll  bite  deeper  when  the  chance  comes."  Rupert  was 
smiling  gravely  through  his  eagerness.  "  Mr.  Oliphant,  I — I 
dare  not  ask  you  what — what  my  father — and  the  Prince — 
and  the  Highlanders — are  feeling." 

Oliphant  set  a  rough  hand  on  his  arm.  "Feeling?  The 
whole  route  north  is  one  long  burial.  I've  seen  battle,  I've 
heard  the  wounded  crying  when  the  night-wind  crept  into  their 
wounds,  but  I  never  met  anguish  as  I  met  it  on  the  road  from 
Derby.  My  lad,  I  cannot  speak  of  it — and  the  Prince  among 
them  all,  with  a  jest  on  his  lips  to  hearten  them,  and  his  face 
as  if  he  danced  a  minuet — all  but  the  eyes,  the  saddened  eyes — 
the  eyes,  I  think,  of  martyred  Charles,  when  he  stepped  to  the 
scaffold  on  a  bygone  January  morning  and  bade  us  all  remem- 


206  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

ber."  Oliphant  halted  a  moment.  A  fury,  resolute  and  quiet, 
was  on  him.  "  By  God,  sir,  some  few  of  us  are  not  likely  to 
forget!" 

And  suddenly  Nance  sobbed  aloud,  though  she  had  never 
learned  the  woman's  trick  of  easy  tears.  And  about  Oliphant's 
face,  too,  a  softness  played.  It  was  a  moment  for  these  three 
such  as  comes  seldom  to  any  of  us — a  moment  packed  so  full 
with  grief  and  tragedy  that  they  must  needs  slip  off  the  masks 
worn  at  usual  times.  They  three  were  of  the  old  Faith,  the 
old,  unquestioning  loyalty.  They  had  no  intrigues,  of  policy 
or  caution,  to  hide  from  one  another.  One  of  the  three  had 
been  with  the  army  of  retreat,  had  felt  the  throb  and  pity  that 
put  a  finer  edge  to  the  sword  he  carried;  and  two  of  them 
waited  here  at  Windyhough,  sending  long  thoughts  out  to  help 
the  wayfarers.  And  now  there  was  an  end,  it  seemed ;  and  in 
the  chilly  gloaming  their  hearts  met,  caught  fire,  were  friendly 
in  a  common  grief. 

As  for  Rupert,  he  felt  his  soul  go  free  to  prison;  he  was 
finding  now  the  answer  to  the  unhappy,  ceaseless  trouble  he 
had  undergone  since  childhood.  He  had  been  thrust  aside  by 
folk  more  practical  and  matter-of-fact ;  he  had  feared  ridicule ; 
he  had  heard  men  name  him  scholarly,  and  had  retreated,  like 
a  snail  into  its  shell,  to  the  dreams  of  gallantry  that  were  food 
and  drink  to  him.  But  through  it  all  he  had  kept  one  bridge 
against  all  comers — the  bridge  of  his  simple,  knightly  faith; 
and  it  is  the  big  deeds  such  as  this — wrought  out  in  silence,  so 
that  none  guesses  them — that  train  a  man  for  the  forlorn 
hope,  the  sudden  call,  the  need  to  step  out  into  the  open 
when  there  is  no  one  else  to  face  odds  ludicrous  and  over- 
whelming. 

It  was  Rupert  who  broke  the  silence,  and  his  voice  was  deep 
and  steady.  "  Mr.  Oliphant,"  he  said,  not  knowing  how  the 
words  came  to  him,  "  this  may  be  for  the  best" 

So  Oliphant,  who  was  saddle-sore  and  human,  snapped  round 
on  him.  "  By  gad,  sir,  you  are  obstinately  cheerful !  Ride 
somewhere  between  here  and  Derby,  and  ask  the  Highlanders 


THE  TALE  COMES  TO  WINDYHOUGH         207 

if  all  is  for  the  best  I  tell  you  I  have  seen  the  Prince's  face, 
and  faith  grows  dull.  He  would  be  in  London  now,  if  he  had 
had  his  way." 

Rupert  glanced  up  to  the  moors,  where  the  last  tattered  ban- 
ners of  the  sunset  fluttered  crimson  on  the  hilltops.  And  in 
his  eyes  was  the  look  which  any  countryman  of  Lancashire,  or 
any  Highlander  from  Skye,  would  have  known  as  "  seeing 
far." 

"  The  Prince  has  not  had  his  way,"  he  said,  with  queer,  un- 
hurried certainty.  "  You  tell  us  he  retreats  as  other  men  go  to 
a  ball.  You  say  his  heart  is  breaking,  sir,  and  that  he  still  finds 
jests.  I  know  retreat  and  waiting — know  them  by  heart — and 
the  going  is  not  smooth.  If  he  can  do  this — why,  he's  bigger 
even  than  my  dreams  of  him." 

Nance  understood  him  now ;  and  Oliphant's  ill-temper  ceased 
to  trouble  him.  Here  was  one,  bred  of  a  soldier-stock,  who 
had  missed  his  way  along  the  road  of  deeds ;  but  to  the  bone  of 
him  he  was  instinct,  not  with  the  ballad-stuff  of  victory,  but 
with  the  tedious  prose  of  long,  sick  marches,  of  defeat  carried 
with  shoulders  squared  to  any  onset  of  adversity. 

Oliphant  laughed  grimly.  It  was  his  way  when  feeling 
waded  so  deep  that  it  was  like  to  carry  him  away.  "  I've  seen 
many  countries,  lad — have  had  my  back  to  the  wall  a  few  times, 
knowing  who  stood  by  me  and  who  found  excuse  to  save  his 
skin ;  but  I  never  in  my  travels  met  one  so  like  a  man,  round 
and  about,  find  him  in  rough  weather  or  in  smooth,  as — as 
the  Prince,  God  bless  him !  The  ladies  up  in  Edinburgh — your 
pardon,  Miss  Demaine,  but  some  of  your  sex  are  fools  para- 
mount— saw  only  his  love-locks  and  the  rest  of  it ;  but  we  have 
seen  his  manhood.  There's  none  like  him.  And  he  retreats 
because  my  Lord  George  Murray  is  mathematical  and  has  cap- 
tured the  Scots  prudence  of  the  chiefs ;  and  he's  still  the  great 
gentleman  among  us — greater  now  that  he  dances,  not  in  Holy- 
rood,  but  through  the  miry  roads." 

Nance  glanced  up  sharply.  She  was  thinking  of  Will  Un- 
derwood, who  had  killed  first  love  for  her  with  a  clown's 


208  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

rough  hand.  "  If  there  were  more  men  of  your  breed — and 
Rupert's " 

"  By  your  leave,"  broke  in  Oliphant  gruffly,  "  I  think  most 
of  us  are  bred  straight.  The  mongrels  make  such  an  uproar 
that  you  fancy  them  a  full  pack  in  cry,  Miss  Demaine.  We're 
not  happy,  not  one  of  us  three ;  but  we  carry  a  faith  bigger  than 
our  hardships."  He  turned  to  Rupert  with  surprising  grace 
and  charm.  "  My  thanks,  sir.  I  was  tired  before  I  met  you, 
and  now — my  weariness  is  gone." 

The  door  of  Windyhough  was  opened  suddenly,  and  Lady 
Royd  came  running  out  bareheaded,  and  halted  on  seeing  the 
horseman  and  the  two  on  foot  in  the  falling  dusk  of  the  court- 
yard. 

"  Rupert,  I  cannot  find  my  little  dog ! "  she  cried. 

Her  elder-born  smiled  grimly.  He  was  struggling  with  the 
need  to  stand  firm  against  Oliphant's  disastrous  news ;  and  his 
mother  came  to  tell  him,  in  her  pretty,  querulous  way,  that  her 
little  dog  was  missing. 

"  Fido  is  in  the  house,  mother,"  he  answered  patiently.  "  We 
heard  him  barking  at  us  when  we  crossed  the  courtyard." 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  Fido.  It's  the  little  black  pug,  Rupert.  And 
she's  so  delicate.  An  hour  of  this  keen  wind,  if  she  is  out  of 
doors,  might  kill  the  poor,  wee  doggie." 

Oliphant  of  Muirhouse  gave  a  muttered  curse,  for,  to  his 
finger-tips,  he  was  a  man,  his  instincts  primitive  when  they 
were  touched.  Then  he  laughed  gently,  for  his  soul's  health, 
and  got  from  saddle,  and  stooped  to  kiss  Lady  Royd's  hand. 

"  You  do  not  know  me,  Lady  Royd,  in  this  dim  light?  I'm 
Oliphant  of  Muirhouse,  and  I  bring  Rising  news." 

Sir  Jasper's  wife  put  a  hand  to  her  breast.  The  movement 
was  quick,  and  another  than  Oliphant  might  easily  have  missed 
it  in  this  dim  light ;  but  now  his  task  grew  harder,  for  he  knew 
that,  apart  from  pet-dog  whimsies,  she  loved  her  husband. 

"  Is  he  safe,  Mr.  Oliphant  ?  "  she  asked,  bridging  all  usual 
courtesies  of  greeting. 

"  Hale  and  well.     I  saw  him  three  days  since,  and  he  sent 


THE  TALE  COMES  TO  WINDYHOUGH         209 

messages  to  you,  knowing  I  had  errands  here  in  Lancashire." 

Lady  Royd,  easy  for  the  moment  because  her  good  man  did 
not  happen  to  be  lying  dead  among  the  ditches  of  her  night- 
mares, grew  almost  roguish.  "And  his  heart,  sir?  Is  it 
sound,  too?  There  are  so  many  pretty  women  in  the  south — 
I  know,  because  I  lived  there  once,  before  I  came  to  these 
bleak  hills  that  frighten  me." 

Oliphant  sought  for  some  way  of  breaking  news  better  left 
untold.  "  You  to  fear  rivalry  ?  "  he  said,  in  his  low,  pleasant 
voice.  "  Sir  Jasper  has  known  you  all  these  years " 

"  Precisely.  And  the  years  have  left  their  mark.  You  need 
not  dwell  on  that,  Mr.  Oliphant." 

"  I  meant  that,  to  have  known  you  all  these  years — why,  it 
explains  the  loverlike  and  pressing  messages  he  sent  by  me." 

So  then  Lady  Royd  was  like  a  girl  in  her  teens.  "  Tell  me 
what  he  said." 

"  No,  by  your  leave !  "  laughed  Oliphant.  "  He  said  so  much, 
and  my  time  is  not  my  own  just  now." 

"  How — how  comforting  you  are,  like  Mr.  Underwood,  who 
finds  always  the  right  word  to  say." 

"  I  say  it  with  a  difference,  I  hope,"  snapped  Oliphant,  too 
weary  to  hide  old  dislikes.  "  I've  known  Mr.  Underwood 
longer  than  I  care  to  remember.  He's  a  man  I'd  trust  to  fail 
me  whenever  the  big  hunt  was  up." 

Nance  laughed  suddenly.  The  relief  was  so  unexpected  and 
so  rousing.  "  You've  the  gift  of  knowing  men,  Mr.  Oliphant." 

"  There,  child !  "  broke  in  Lady  Royd.  "  You  must  come  to 
my  years  before  you  talk  of  understanding  men ;  and  even  then, 
if  I  die  in  my  bed  at  ninety,  I  shall  never  know  why  we  find 
their  daft  ways  so  likeable." 

Oliphant,  afraid  to  hurt  a  woman  always,  was  seeking  for 
some  way  to  break  his  news.  This  wife  of  Sir  Jasper's  was 
leal  and  tender,  underneath  her  follies ;  and  her  husband  was 
in  retreat — in  a  retreat  dangerous  to  the  safety  of  his  body,  but 
more  perilous  still  to  the  quick  and  fiery  soul  that  had  led  him 
south  with  Prince  Charles  Edward. 


210  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  He  is  in  good  health,"  he  said  slowly — "  but  the  Cause  is 
not." 

"There  has  been  a  battle?'*    She  was  alert,  attentive  now. 

"  Yes — a  battle  of  the  Council-chamber,  and  the  Prince  was 
outnumbered.  The  odds  were  four  to  one  at  least." 

"  I  do  not  understand,  sir." 

"  Nor  do  I,"  he  went  on,  in  a  quiet  heat  of  rage.  "  We  were 
cavaliers  all,  dashing  straight  through  England  on  the  forlorn 
hope.  All  depended  on  looking  forward.  The  chiefs  chose 
just  that  moment  to  look  back  along  the  road  of  prudence.  It 
is  disastrous,  pitiful.  I  dare  not  think  of  it." 

"  So  they — are  in  retreat  ?  " 

"  That  is  my  message  to  you.  Sir  Jasper  wishes  you  to  stay 
here  at  Windyhough.  The  march  north  will  go  wide  of  you, 
through  Langton,  and  you'll  be  secure  here." 

Lady  Royd  stood  very  still  in  the  wind  that  at  another  time 
would  have  made  her  peevish  with  longing  for  her  warm  south 
country.  Her  surface  tricks,  the  casual  littleness  that  had  dis- 
turbed Sir  Jasper's  peace,  were  blown  aside.  She  was  think- 
ing of  her  husband,  of  all  this  Rising  meant  to  him,  of  his 
heartsickness  and  the  hazards  that  were  doubled  now. 

"  I  would  God,  sir,  that  he  had  bidden  me  go  out  to  join  him 
in  retreat,"  she  said  at  last.  "  I  shall  be  secure  here,  he  thinks  ? 
House  walls  about  one,  Mr.  Oliphant,  and  food  to  eat,  and  wine 
to  drink — are  they  security  ?  I'm  weak  and  foolish  on  the  sud- 
den— I  never  understood  till  now  that,  where  he  goes,  there  is 
home  for  me.  Shelter?  I  need  none,  except  his  arms  about 
me." 

There  are  times — moments  set  thick  with  trouble,  when  faith 
and  all  else  seem  drowning  in  the  flood — that  compel  us  to 
struggle  free  of  reticence.  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse  was  not 
aware  that  there  was  anything  singular  or  unseemly  in  this 
spoiled  wife's  statement  of  her  case.  Nance  answered  to  the 
direct  appeal ;  for  her  own  heart  was  bruised,  and  fragrant 
with  the  herb  named  pity.  And  Rupert,  for  his  part,  stood 


THE  TALE  COMES  TO  WINDYHOUGH         211 

aside  and  gazed  at  his  mother  across  the  red,  murky  twilight, 
and  wondered  how  it  came  that  one  of  his  dreams  was  an- 
swered after  all.  In  face  and  voice  and  tender  uprightness  of 
figure,  this  mother  of  his  was  something  near  the  ideal  he  had 
woven  round  her,  despite  her  careless  handling  of  him  in  the 
years  gone  by. 

"Ah,  there!"  said  Lady  Royd,  with  a  coquettish,  gentle 
laugh.  "  Nance  was  talking  not  long  ago  of  love  and  knight- 
hood and  all  that — the  baby  girl! — and  I  rapped  her  over  the 
knuckles  with  my  fan.  It's  a  humdrum  world  we  live  in,  Mr. 
Oliphant ;  and,  by  that  token,  you  will  come  in  to  supper  before 
you  carry  on  the  news." 

"  Not  even  a  mouthful  and  a  glass  of  wine  out  here ;  as  for 
coming  in  to  the  meal  I  crave — why,  I  dare  not  do  it,  by  your 
leave.  Sleep  is  waiting  so  near  to  me,  to  trip  me  up  in  the 
middle  of  my  errand." 

She  glanced  at  him,  with  the  instinct  that  is  never  far  from 
women  to  play  the  temptress.  "  You  look  so  tired,"  she  said 
gently.  "  Surely  your  news  will  wait  ?  A  warm  hearth,  Mr. 
Oliphant,  and  the  meal  you  need " 

"  You  said  just  now  that  house  walls  and  food  and  drink 
were  of  little  consequence — unless  you  had  strong  hands  about 
you." 

"  But  you're  strong  of  your  hands  already.  And  I  am 
weak." 

"  Yes,"  said  Oliphant,  "  passably  strong ;  but  it  is  each  man 
to  his  trade,  my  lady.  The  hands  I  need — they  greet  me  on 
the  uplands,  when  my  horse  and  I  are  so  tired  out  that  it  is 
laughable.  We  get  up  into  the  roomy  moors — our  business  lies 
in  that  sort  of  country — and  the  curlews  go  crying,  crying,  as 
if  their  sorrow  could  not  rest  since  a  Stuart  once  was  martyred. 
And  we  gather  up  our  courage,  my  horse  and  I." 

"  You  men,"  she  broke  in  fretfully — "  your  thoughts  run  al- 
ways up  the  hills.  And  you  find  only  the  old  feuds — a  Stuart 
martyred  near  a  hundred  years  ago,  a  king  who's  earth  and 


212  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

bone-dust  by  this  time,  as  we  shall  be  one  day.  It  matters  so 
little,  Mr.  Oliphant,  when  we  come  to  the  end  of  our  lives — to 
the  end  of  our  singing-time." 

Oliphant  of  Muirhouse  had  learned  the  hardest  of  life's  les- 
sons— a  broad  and  catholic  simplicity ;  and  in  the  learning  he 
had  gained  an  added  edge  to  the  temper  that  now  was  lithe  as 
steel.  "  King  Charles  is  neither  earth  nor  bone-dust,"  he  said 
pleasantly  "  He  is — alive,  my  lady,  and  he  knows  that  we 
remember." 

"Remembrance?  What  of  that?"  asked  the  other  lazily. 
"Just  last  year's  rose-leaves,  sir,  with  the  faded  scent  about 
them.  By  your  leave,  Mr.  Oliphant,  I  thought  you  more  work- 
manlike and  modern." 

It  was  Rupert  who  broke  in.  "  Remember  ?  "  he  said  storm- 
ily.  "  My  father  taught  me  just  that  word,  when  he  used  to 
come  up  into  the  nursery  long  ago,  and  play  with  us.  He  did 
not  know  then  how — how  like  God's  fool  I  was  to  grow  up, 
and  he  would  tell  me  tales  of  Charles  the  First,  how  likeable 
and  kingly  he  was  always ;  how  he'd  have  been  glad  to  take  his 
crown  off,  and  live  like  a  country  gentleman,  following  field- 
sports  all  the  day,  and  coming  back  to  the  wife  and  bairns  he 
loved,  to  spend  long  evenings  with  them." 

Oliphant  of  Muirhouse  felt  pity  stir  about  him.  This  lad — 
with  the  simplicity  of  one  who  was  seeing  far  back  along  the 
years,  scarce  knowing  that  he  was  speaking  his  thoughts  aloud 
— was  a  figure  to  rouse  any  thinking  man's  attention.  He  was 
so  good  a  soldier  wasted. 

"  Then  father  would  tell  me,"  went  on  Rupert,  the  passion 
deepening  in  his  voice,  "  how  the  King  was  asked  to  leave  it 
all ;  how  he  could  have  saved  his  life,  if  he  had  given  his  Faith 
in  exchange,  and  how  he  would  not  yield.  And  then — father 
made  it  all  so  plain  to  me — the  King  went  out  from  Whitehall, 
one  bitter  January  day,  and  the  scaffold  and  the  streets  were 
thick  with  snow,  and  he  went  with  a  grave,  happy  face,  as  if  he 
had  many  friends  about  him.  And  he  knelt  awhile  at  the 
scaffold  in  decent  prayer ;  and  then  he  turned  to  Bishop  Juxon, 


THE  TALE  COMES  TO  WINDYHOUGH         213 

and  said,  '  Remember ! '  And  then— black  Cromwell  had  his 
way  of  him,  for  a  little  while." 

'  My  dear,  that  is  past  history,"  protested  Lady  Royd,  with 
petulant  dislike  of  sorrow.  "  Of  course  he  died  well,  and,  to 
be  sure,  the  snow  must  have  added  to  his  great  discomfort; 
but  we  live  in  other  times." 

"  No !  "  said  Oliphant,  sharp  as  a  bugle-call.  "  We  live  in 
the  same  times,  my  lady.  The  way  of  men's  hearts  does  not 
change.  I'm  tired,  and  not  so  young  as  I  was ;  but  your  son 
has  marshalled  all  my  courage  up." 

So  then  Rupert  stood  aside.  His  chivalry  and  hero-worship, 
like  his  love  for  Nance,  were  too  delicate  as  yet,  for  lack  of 
drill ;  and  he  was  ashamed  that  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse  should 
praise  his  littleness. 

"  Mr.  Oliphant,"  said  Lady  Royd,  with  her  roguish,  faded 
laugh,  "  you're  like  the  rest  of  my  daft  men-folk ;  you  are  all 
for  remembrance  of  the  days  behind " 

"  Yes.  We  take  a  few  steps  back,  the  better  to  leap  for- 
ward. That  is  the  strict  method  of  leaping  any  five-barred 
gate.  There's  been  so  much  surmise  about  that  riddle  of  '  Re- 
member,' and  Rupert  here  has  made  it  plain  to  me  for  the  first 
time." 

"  '  Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes,'  "  said  Rupert's  mother,  with 
a  flippancy  that  was  born  of  this  long  idleness  at  Windy- 
hough,  the  long  anxiety  for  the  safety  of  her  husband,  whom, 
in  some  muddled  way,  she  loved. 

"  He  is  no  babe,  by  your  leave.  He  is  nearly  a  proven  man, 
my  lady,  and  I  think  God  finds  no  better  praise  than  that  for 
any  of  us." 

It  was  all  quick  in  the  saying,  this  talk  of  folk  who  heard 
disaster  sing  down  the  bitter  wind ;  but  Nance,  looking  on  and 
seeking  some  forward  grip  of  life  since  Will  Underwood  had 
fallen  by  the  way,  was  aware  that  Rupert  had  sounded  the 
rally-call  when  all  seemed  lost.  He  was  no  longer  scholarly, 
unpractical ;  from  the  background,  with  the  murky  gloaming 
round  him,  he  was  a  figure  dominant  among  them.  And  from 


£14  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

that  background  he  stepped  forward,  lightly,  with  self-assur- 
ance, because  there  was  no  pageantry  about  this  game  of  sor- 
row, but  only  the  quick  need  to  take  hold  of  the  every-day  rou- 
tine of  hardship. 

"  It  might  happen  that  the  retreat  came  up  by  way  of  Win- 
dyhough  ?  "  he  asked,  straightening  the  scholarly  stoop  of  his 
shoulders. 

Oliphant  looked  gravely  at  him — measured  him,  with  an  eye 
trained  to  quick  judgment  of  a  man — and  dared  not  lie  to  this 
son  of  Sir  Jasper's  who  stayed  here  among  the  women,  seeking 
better  work.  "  There's  no  chance  of  it,"  he  said  gruffly. 
"  They  are  taking  the  Langton  road.  I — I  am  sorry,  Rupert. 
I  wish  the  thick  of  it  were  coming  this  way.  You're  in  need 
of  exercise,  my  lad." 

And  Rupert  laughed  suddenly.  "  Mr.  Oliphant,"  he  said, 
with  his  quiet,  disarming  humour,  "  I've  had  drill  enough — a 
useless  sort  of  drill — and  I'm  praying  these  days  for  assault, 
and  musketry,  and  siege — anything  to  save  us  stay-at-homes 
from  sleep." 

Oliphant  looked  down  at  the  years  of  his  own  misshapen 
boyhood,  saw  himself  a  weakling,  unproven,  hidden  by  the 
mists  of  his  own  high  desires.  And  he  gripped  Rupert's  hand, 
said  farewell  to  Lady  Royd,  and  got  to  saddle. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  asked  Rupert,  with  sharp,  disconsolate  dis- 
may. "  Take  me  with  you,  sir.  There's  a  broken-winded 
horse  or  two  still  left  in  stable." 

"  I  obey  orders,"  snapped  Oliphant,  with  brusque  command. 
"  You  will  do  no  less,  and  Sir  Jasper  was  exact  in  his  wish  that 
you  should  guard  the  women  here." 

Rupert  was  sick  at  heart,  restless  to  be  in  the  open,  lest  faith 
and  courage  were  killed  outright  by  these  stifled  days  at  Win- 
dyhough. 

"  They're  safe,  you  tell  me,"  he  said,  yielding  to  the  queer, 
gusty  temper  that  few  suspected  in  him.  "  Then  I'm  free  to 
breathe  again.  With  you,  or  without  you,  I  shall  join  the 
Rising  at  long  last" 


215 

Oliphant's  heart  went  out  to  the  mettle  of  this  ill-balanced, 
stormy  lad.  For  there  are  many  who  are  keen  to  follow  vic- 
tory at  the  gallop;  but  Oliphant  was  a  man  who  knew  his 
world — knew  it  through  all  its  tricks  of  speech  and  manner — 
and  he  had  met  few  who  were  eager  to  ride  out  along  the  un- 
sung, unhonoured  road  where  retreat  goes  slowly  through  the 
mire. 

"  You  know  what  this  retreat  means  ?  "  he  asked,  in  the  same 
sharp  tones,  as  if  on  parade.  "  Sullen  men,  and  sullen  roads, 
and  northeast  winds  that  cut  the  heart  out  of  a  man's  body? 
Hard-bitten  soldiers  find  it  devilish  hard  to  follow,  Rupert — 
and  there  are  the  pipes,  too,  to  reckon  with.  These  daft  High- 
land bodies  will  ever  go  playing  '  The  Flowers  of  the  Forest/ 
till  the  pity  of  it  goes  up  and  down  the  wind,  like  Rachel  seek- 
ing for  strayed  children.  It  is  all  made  up  of  emptiness  and 
sorrow,  I  tell  you,  this  road  from  Derby." 

"  I  should  go  from  worse  emptiness  and  sorrow,  here  at 
Windyhough,"  said  Rupert  stubbornly.  "  I  fear  house-walls, 
Mr.  Oliphant,  and  the  foulest  road  would  seem  easy-going " 

Oliphant  broke  sharply  in.  This  was  his  own  feeling,  but 
it  was  not  the  time  to  give  sympathy  to  Sir  Jasper's  heir. 
"  You  come  of  a  soldier-stock,  lad.  You  want  to  learn  sol- 
diery one  day?  Well,  you'll  learn  it — I've  trust  absolute  in 
that — and  you  begin  to-night." 

"  Then  I'll  go  saddle,"  said  Rupert,  eager  to  try  a  second 
fall  from  horse  again. 

"  No,  by  your  leave !  "  snapped  Oliphant.  "  You'll  play  sen- 
try here.  Your  orders  are  precise.  You  guard  the  house  and 
women,  as  Sir  Jasper  bade  you." 

"  Because  Sir  Jasper  knew  that  no  assault  would  come,"  said 
Rupert,  with  a  return  of  the  old  heartache.  "  You  leave  me 
as  you  found  me,  sir — a  toy  soldier  guarding  a  house  that  could 
only  tempt  fools  to  capture  it." 

Oliphant  straightened  himself,  clicked  his  heels  together. 
His  voice  was  tired  and  husky,  but  precise.  "Your  officer 
commands.  You  obey.  What  else?  Men  do  not  question  at 


£16  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

these  times."  Then,  with  sudden  understanding  of  the  man  he 
had  to  deal  with — with  some  remembrance  of  his  own  rebel- 
lious and  lonely  boyhood — Oliphant  stood,  rugged  and  uncom- 
promising, a.  lean,  hard  six-foot-two  of  manhood.  "  To  your 
post,  sentry ! "  he  said  sharply. 

And  Rupert  found  his  heart  leap  out  to  the  command.  In- 
stinctively— because  breed  shapes  us  all — he  lost  the  scholarly 
stoop  of  shoulders,  lost  his  ill-temper  and  loneliness.  He  sa- 
luted stiffly.  And  Oliphant  got  to  horse,  and  was  riding,  slowly 
forward,  when  Lady  Royd  ran  to  his  saddle. 

"  I  have  the  most  dismaying  curiosity,  Mr.  Oliphant,"  she 
said,  lifting  the  pretty,  faded  face  that  would  always  keep  its 
charm.  "  It  is  the  woman's  curse,  they  tell  us.  What  did 
King  Charles  mean  when  he  said  '  Remember '  ?  We've  been 
guessing  at  the  riddle  for  a  hundred  years  or  so,  and  it  still 
baffles  us." 

Oliphant  glanced  up  at  the  roomy  hills,  at  the  red  snow- 
gloaming  that  was  dying  slowly  round  their  crests.  "  What 
did  he  mean — that  day  he  went  to  death?  No  words  could 
tell  you.  It  was  something  high,  and  strong,  and  lasting,  like 
your  moors  up  there." 

"  Oh,  no ;  that  could  not  be.  He  was  so  full  of  courtesy,  so 
gentle — so  like  the  warm  south-country  I  left  long  ago.  King 
Charles,  sir,  was  never  like  these  hills  that  frighten  me." 

Oliphant  looked  down  at  her,  with  some  pity  and  a  great 
chivalry.  "  You  hold  the  woman's  view  of  him,"  he  said,  with 
the  simplicity  inborn  in  him.  "  As  a  man  sees  him,  Lady  Royd, 
he  did  what  few  among  us  could.  His  wife  and  bairns  were 
pulling  him  back  from  the  scaffold — and  he  loved  them;  his 
ease,  his  love  of  life,  his  fear  of  the  unknown — all  were  against 
him.  He  could  have  saved  the  most  comely  head  in  England, 
and  would  not,  because  his  faith  was  stubborn.  By  your  leave, 
I  bow  my  head  when  the  thought  of  Martyred  Charles  goes  by 
me." 

Lady  Royd  looked  at  this  man,  so  hard  of  body,  so  tired  and 
resolute.  "  I  thought  you  practical,  Mr.  Oliphant." 


THE  TALE  COMES  TO  WINDYHOUGH         217 

"  None  more  so.  I'm  a  Scotsman,"  he  put  in,  with  a  laugh 
that  struck  no  discordant  note.  "  If  it  had  not  been  for  King 
Charles,  I  should  not  be  here — riding  evil  roads  as  if  I  danced 
a  pleasant  measure." 

"  You're  beyond  me,  sir ;  but  then,  men  always  were.  They 
never  seem  to  rest ;  and  when  the  wind  blows  keenest,  they  run 
out  into  it,  as  if  it  were  warmer  than  the  fireside." 

"  And  there  the  secret's  out.  That  was  King  Charles's  mean- 
ing when  he  bade  all  Christian  royalists  remember.  It  was 
your  son  who  explained  it  all  to  me  just  now." 

"  Ah,  Rupert !  The  poor  boy  dreams  too  much.  You're  in- 
dulgent, Mr.  Oliphant." 

They  fell  silent,  as  people  do  when  feeling  throbs  and  stirs 
about  them  like  thunder  that  is  brewing  up,  but  will  not  break. 
And  Oliphant,  out  of  this  thunder-weather  that  he  knew  by 
heart,  found  sudden  intuition.  Sir  Jasper's  wife  had  not  fol- 
lowed him  to  learn  what  the  last  message  meant  of  a  King  dead 
these  hundred  years ;  she  had  sought  cover,  as  women  do  when 
they  are  harassed,  had  waited  till  she  found  courage  to  ask  the 
question  that  was  nearest  to  her  heart. 

"  You're  thinking  of  your  husband,  Lady  Royd  ?  "  he  said, 
with  blunt  assurance.  "  I  shall  see  him  soon,  if  all  goes  well, 
and  I  shall  tell  him— what?  " 

Women  undoubtedly  are  as  Heaven  made  them,  a  mystery 
past  man's  understanding.  Lady  Royd,  deep  in  her  trouble, 
chose  this  moment  to  remember  how  Sir  Jasper  had  wooed 
her  as  a  girl — chose  to  grow  younger  on  the  sudden,  to  carry 
that  air  of  buoyancy  and  happiness  which  makes  the  tired 
world  welcome  all  daft  lovers.  "You've  read  my  heart,  sir, 
in  some  odd  way.  My  husband— I  cannot  tell  you  what  he 
means  to  me.  I  was  not  bre'd  to  soldiery.  I — I  hated  the 
sword  he  carried  out  with  him,  because  sharp  steel  has  always 
been  a  nightmare  to  me,  and  he  was  cruel  when  he  bade  me 
buckle  it  on  for  him." 

"  As  God  sees  us,  he  was  kind,"  broke  in  Oliphant,  moved 
by  extreme  pity  for  this  spoiled  wife  who  had  fallen  on  evil 


218  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

days.  "  He  loves  you.  The  summons  came.  It  was  for 
your  sake — yours,  do  you  not  understand? — that  he  kept  faith 
with  the  Prince." 

"  For  my  sake — he  could  have  stayed  at  home.  I — I  needed 
him.  I  told  him  so." 

Oliphant  was  so  tired  that  even  compassion  could  not 
soften  the  rough  edge  of  his  temper.  "  And  if  he'd 
stayed?  You  would  have  liked  your  tame  cat  about  the 
house?  You'd  have  fussed  over  him  and  petted  him — but 
you'd  never  in  this  life  have  found  the  medicine  to  cure  his 
shame." 

"Oh,  there!"  said  the  other  fretfully.  "You  worship 
honour.  It  is  always  honour  with  you  men  who  need  excuse 
for  riding  far  away  from  home." 

"  Honour  ?  "  snapped  Oliphant,  eager  again  for  the  relief 
of  miry  roads  and  saddle-soreness.  "  It  is  the  Prince's 
watchword.  His  heart  is  broken — or  near  to  it — and  honour 
is  the  one  light  left  him.  It  keeps  him  gay,  my  lady,  through 
fouler  trouble  than  you  or  I  have  strength  to  face.  And  so 
— good-night,  I  think." 

"  No,  no !  We  must  not  part  like  this.  I — I  am  so  foolish, 
Mr.  Oliphant — and  you  are  angry " 

"  Your  pardon,"  he  said,  with  quick  and  gay  compunction. 
"  It  was  my  temper — my  accursed  temper.  I'm  too  tired  just 
now  to  keep  a  tight  rein  on  the  jade." 

"  Ah,  there !  You  were  always  generous.  It  is  a  quality 
that  keeps  men  lean,  I  notice."  She  looked  him  up  and  down, 
again  with  the  hint  of  coquetry  that  became  her  well.  "  It 
is  a  gallant  sort  of  leanness,  after  all.  For  myself,  I'm 
growing — a  little  plump,  shall  we  say  ?  " 

"  More  graceful  in  the  outline  than  myself.  I  was  always 
a  figure  to  scare  corbie-crows  away  with." 

Sir  Jasper's  wife,  from  the  depth  of  her  own  trouble,  knew 
how  weary  and  in  need  of  solitude  he  was.  She  wondered 
that  he  could  keep  up  this  game  of  ball — nice  coquetry  and 
chiselled  answer — when  all  the  sky  was  red  about  the  moor 


THE  TALE  COMES  TO  WINDYHOUGH         219 

up  yonder,  and  all  the  hazard  of  retreat  was  singing  at  their 
ears. 

"  You  will  see  my  husband  soon  ?  "  she  said  softly.    "  I — I 

have  a  message  for  him " 

"  My  trade  lies  that  way.    You  can  trust  me  with  it." 
"  You  may  tell  him  that  I — I  miss  him,  sir ;  and  if  he  seems 
to  miss  me,  too — why,  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  my  heart  is 
aching." 

Oliphant,  moved  by  a  gust  of  feeling,  stooped  to  her  hand. 
"  I  never  had  a  wife,  myself.  God  was  not  kind  that  way. 
I'll  take  your  message,  and  Sir  Jasper  will  forget  the  miry 
roads,  I  think." 

He  rode  out,  a  trim,  square-shouldered  figure,  carrying 
hardship  as  a  man  should.  And  Lady  Royd,  because  he  re- 
minded her  of  the  husband  whose  memory  was  very  fragrant 
now,  went  down  to  the  gate,  and  watched  horse  and  rider 
merge  into  the  gloaming.  And,  long  after  they  were  out  of 
sight,  she  stood  and  listened  to  the  tip-tap  of  hoofs,  faint  and 
ever  fainter,  down  and  up  the  track  that  was  taking  Oliphant 
along  his  road  of  every-day,  hard  business. 

Behind  her,  Rupert  and  Nance  Demaine  were  standing,  fac- 
ing each  other  with  mute  dismay.  Without  knowing  that 
they  were  eavesdroppers,  they  had  heard  Lady  Royd's  voice, 
with  its  half-pleasant  note  of  querulousness,  and  the  rider's 
low,  tired  answers  to  her  questions.  And  they  had  not  heeded 
overmuch — for  each  was  busy  with  the  ill  news  brought  from 
Derby — until,  merciless,  exact,  they  heard  across  the  court- 
yard Oliphant's  rough,  "And  if  he'd  stayed?  You  would 
have  liked  your  tame  cat  about  the  house  ?  " 

Nance  had  looked  sharply  up  at  Rupert,  had  seen  his 
soldierly,  straight  air  desert  him,  and  she  understood. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  broken  up  by  sharp  sympathy,  "  he 
— he  did  not  mean  that  you " 

"So  you,  too,  fit  the  fool's  cap  on?  I'm  going  indoors, 
Nance — to  my  post,  to  find  Simon  Foster." 

He  was  hard  hit;  and  the  strength  of  the  fathers  stiffened. 


220  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

his  courage,  now  in  the  hour  of  shame,  so  that  he  was  almost 
gay.  And  Nance  could  make  nothing  of  this  mood  of  his, 
because  she  was  born  a  woman,  and  he  a  man. 

"  You  always  brought  your  troubles  to  me,  Rupert,"  she 
pleaded,  laying  a  hand  on  his  sleeve. 

"  Yes,  till  they  grew  too  big  for  you.  And  now — why, 
Nance,  I  think  I'll  shoulder  them  myself." 

He  seemed  to  stand  far  away,  not  needing  her.  It  seemed, 
rather,  in  this  moment  of  despair,  that  she  went  in  need  of 
him.  Will  Underwood  had  deserted  her,  had  trodden  her 
first  love  underfoot ;  she  was  bruised  and  tired ;  and  the  Ris- 
ing news  was  wintry  as  her  loneliness. 

Rupert,  his  voice  firm  again,  turned  at  the  porch.  "  Good- 
night, Nance,"  he  said,  with  the  gaiety  that  hurt  her.  "  You 
may  sleep  well — the  tame  cat  guards  the  house,  my  dear." 

There  was  bitterness  and  heartache  about  this  house  of 
Windyhough.  The  wind  would  not  be  still,  and  men's  sor- 
rows would  not  rest.  And  the  stark  moor  above  lay  naked 
to  the  wintry  moon,  and  shivered  underneath  her  coverlet  of 
sleet 

Nance,  by  and  by,  followed  Rupert  indoors,  and  went  into 
the  parlour,  with  its  scent  of  last  year's  rose-leaves,  its  pretty, 
useless  ornaments,  its  air  of  stifled  luxury,  warring  with  the 
ruddy  gloaming  light  that  strode  down  from  the  moors  and 
peeped  through  every  window,  as  if  to  spy  out  the  shams 
within  doors. 

She  sat  down  to  the  spinet,  and  touched  a  mellow,  tender 
chord  or  two ;  and  then,  because  needs  must,  she  found  relief 
in  song.  Her  singing  voice  was  like  herself,  dainty,  well- 
found,  full  of  deep  cadences  where  tenderness  and  laughter 
lurked.  It  was  no  voice  to  take  the  town  by  storm,  but  one 
to  hearten  men,  when  they  came  in  from  the  open,  against 
the  next  day's  warfare.  And  she  sang  Stuart  songs,  with 
a  little  lilt  of  sorrow  in  them,  because  of  Oliphant's  news 
from  Derby  and  because  of  Will  Underwood's  sadder  retreat 
from  honour,  and  hoped  somehow  that  Rupert  would  hear  her 


THE  TALE  COMES  TO  WINDYHOUGH         221 

and  come  to  her,  because  she  needed  him.  He  was  so  fond 
of  ballads — those,  most  of  all,  that  had  the  Stuart  constancy 
about  them — and  Nance  was  sure  that  she  could  entice  him 
down,  could  sing  some  little  of  his  evil  mood  away  from  him. 

Instead,  as  she  halted  with  her  fingers  on  the  keys,  she 
heard  Rupert  tramping  overhead,  and  Simon  Foster's  heavy 
footfall,  as  they  went  their  round  of  what,  in  irony  and  bit- 
terness, they  named  the  defences. 

"  This  loophole  covers  the  main  door,  Simon,"  she  heard 
Rupert  say,  with  his  tired  laugh.  "  In  case  of  a  direct  at- 
tack from  the  front,  I  station  myself  here  with  six  muskets, 
aim  sure  and  quickly,  picking  my  man  carefully  each  time, 
and  disorder  them  by  making  them  think  we  are  in  force." 

"  That's  so,  master,"  growled  Simon.  "  And  while  you're 
busy  that  way,  I  make  round  to  the  left  wing,  and  get  a  few 
shots  in  from  there  across  the  courtyard.  "  Oh,  dangment !  " 
he  broke  off.  "  We  have  it  all  by  heart,  and  there's  only  one 
thing  wanting — the  attack  itself.  I'm  nigh  wearied  o'  this 
bairn's  play,  I  own.  It  puts  me  i'  mind,  it  does,  of  Hunter- 
comb  Fair,  last  October  as  ever  was." 

"What  happened  there?"  asked  Rupert,  as  if  the  other's 
slow,  unhurried  humour  were  a  welcome  respite. 

"  Well,  they  were  playing  a  terrible  fine  piece  where  soldiers 
kept  coming  in,  and  crossing  th'  stage,  till  you  counted  'em 
by  scores.  But,  after  I'd  seen  what  was  to  be  seen,  I  went 
out ;  and  I  happened  to  go  round  by  the  back  o'  the  booth,  and 
I  saw  how  it  was  done.  There  were  just  five  soldiers,  mas- 
ter—one was  Thomas  Scatterty's  lad,  I  noticed,  who's  said 
to  run  away  from  a  sheep  if  it  bleats  at  him— and  these 
durned  five,  why,  they  went  in  at  one  end  o'  the  booth,  and 
marched  across  th'  stage,  and  out  a  t'other  end.  Then  they 
ran  round  at  th'  back,  and  in  again ;  and  so  it  went  on,  like, 
till  th'  sweat  fair  dripped  from  them,  what  with  hurrying  in 
and  out." 

Nance,  listening  idly,  could  hear  that  low,  recurrent  laugh 
of  Rupert's— the  laugh  that  was  tired,  and  hid  many  troubles. 


222  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  Yes,  Simon,  yes,"  he  said,  with  high  disdain  of  himself 
and  circumstance,  "  it  is  all  very  like  Huntercomb  Fair ;  but 
at  Huntercomb  they  had  the  jostling  crowd,  the  lights,  the 
screech  of  the  fiddles.  Here  at  Windyhough  we  have — just 
silence — a  silence  so  thick  and  damnable,  Simon,  that  I'm 
praying  for  a  gale,  and  fallen  chimney-stacks,  and  the  wind 
piping  through  the  broken  windows." 

"  Aye,  you  were  ever  a  dreamer.  The  dreamers  are  all  for 
speed,  and  earthquakes,  and  sudden  happenings.  Life  as  it's 
lived,  master,  doesn't  often  gallop.  It  creeps  along,  like,  same 
as  ye  and  me  are  doing,  and  keeps  itself  alive  for  fear  of 
starving,  and  gets  up,  some  durned  way  or  another,  for  th' 
next  day's  work.  Well,  have  we  done,  like,  or  must  we  finish 
this  lad's  game  ?  " 

And  then  Nance  heard  a  sharper  note  in  Rupert's  voice. 
She  had  heard  it  once  before,  that  day  he  fought  with  his 
brother  on  the  moor  because  he  thought  her  honour  was  in 
question.  "  We  finish,  Simon.  What  else  ?  " 

"  Now  you're  at  your  faith  again,  master.  I  can  hear  it 
singing  like  a  throstle.  Well,  I'm  a  plain  man  myself,  ask- 
ing plain  proof.  Just  as  man  to  man — and  want  o'  respect 
apart — has  your  pretty,  gentleman's  faith  done  much  for 
you?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Rupert,  unexpectedly.  "  It  has  given  me  pluck 
to  see  this  business  through.  A  houseful  of  women  and 
cripples — my  father  taking  all  the  burden  on  his  shoulders 
while  I  skulk  at  home — dear  God!  I'd  be  in  a  coward's 
grave  by  now,  Simon,  if  faith  had  not  stood  by  me." 

"  Then  there's  summat  in  it,  after  all  ?  " 

"  It  is  powder  in  the  musket,"  said  Rupert,  as  if  there  could 
be  no  further  argument.  "  No  more,  no  less.  But  you  and 
I,  Simon,  have  to  find  the  spark  that  fires  it." 

Nance  heard  them  pass  overhead,  heard  the  sound  of 
Simon's  heavy  boots  die  along  the  corridor.  And  she  turned 
again  to  the  spinet,  and  her  fingers  moved  up  and  down  the 
keys,  their  colour  mellowed  by  long  service,  and  played  ran- 


THE  TALE  COMES  TO  WINDYHOUGH         223 

dom  melodies  that  were  in  keeping  with  her  thoughts — not 
Stuart  airs,  because  these  asked  always  sacrifice,  and  the  big 
heart,  and  the  royal  laugh  that  comes  when  things  go  wrong 
in  this  world. 

Nance  was  too  tired  to-night  for  the  adventurous  road. 
To-morrow  she  would  be  herself  again,  eager,  resolute,  pre- 
pared for  the  day's  journey.  But  just  now  she  needed  the 
sleep,  that  stood  far  away  from  her;  needed  some  charitable, 
firm  voice  to  tell  her  she  was  foolish  and  unstrung;  needed 
Rupert,  as  she  had  not  guessed  that  she  could  lack  any  man. 
And  Rupert  had  tramped  overhead,  concerned  with  make- 
believe  defences. 

"  Oh,  he  does  not  care ! "  she  said,  believing  that  she  hated 
him.  "  Simon  Foster,  crippled  in  both  legs,  and  musty  loop- 
holes, and  powder  that  he'll  never  use — they're  more  to  him 
than  all  this  heartbreak  gathering  over  Windyhough." 

Into  the  scented  room,  with  its  candles  shining  from  their 
silver  sconces,  Lady  Royd  came,  tremulous  and  white  of  face, 
from  watching  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse  ride  out. 

"  Nance,  my  dear,  I — I  am  tired,"  she  said. 

"  I  think  we  all  are,"  Nance  answered,  rising  from  the 
spinet  with  a  deference  that  had  no  heart  in  it. 

"  Oh,  you're  querulous,  and  so  am  I,"  said  the  other,  with 
a  shrewd  glance  at  the  girl's  face.  "  If  our  men  could  see 
us  now — our  men  who  fight  for  us — they  would  be  aston- 
ished, Nance.  We're  so  little  like  their  dreams  of  us.  You 
in  a  bad  temper,  and  I  ready  to  cry  if  a  mouse  threatened 
me,  and  our  men,  God  bless  them !  thinking  only  of  old  Eng- 
land, and  our  beautiful  bright  eyes,  Nance — your  eyes  and 
mine — just  red,  my  dear,  if  you'll  forgive  me,  with  the  tears 
men  think  our  luxury." 

Nance,  made  up  of  hill-rides,  and  free  winds,  and  charity, 
looked  quietly  at  Lady  Royd,  read  some  fellowship  in  the 
pretty,  faded  face.  "  I  have — a  few  griefs  of  my  own,"  she 
said,  with  the  sudden  penitence  that  was  always  like  April's 
sunshine  after  rain.  "  I  forgot  that  you  had  yours." 


224  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

The  older  woman  grasped  Nance's  hand,  and  held  it,  and 
looked  into  the  young,  faithful  eyes.  She  needed  youth  just 
now ;  for  she  felt  that  she  was  growing  old. 

"  Nance,  he  is  out  with  the  Rising.  And  they've  retreated. 
And — and,  girl,  when  you  come  to  my  age,  and  have  a  hus- 
band and  a  son  who  will  go  fighting  for  high  causes — oh, 
you'll  know,  Nance,  how  one's  heart  aches  till  it  goes  near  to 
breaking." 

"  You  will  tell  me,"  said  Nance,  laying  a  gentle  hand  on 
the  other's  arm. 

And  Lady  Royd  looked  gravely  at  her  for  a  moment, 
through  the  tears  that  lay  thick  about  the  babyish,  blue  eyes. 
And  then  she  laughed — with  gallantry  and  tiredness,  as  Ru- 
pert had  laughed  not  long  ago  when  he  listened  to  Simon 
Foster's  tale  of  Huntercomb  Fair. 

"  My  dear,  I  should  be  glad  to  tell  you — if  I  could.  How 
should  I  find  words?  I've  loved  him  for  more  than  six-and- 
twenty  years,  Nance,  and  guessed  as  much  long  since,  but  was 
never  sure  of  it  till  he  rode  out.  And  now — he's  in  the  thick 
of  danger,  and  I  cannot  go  to  him." 

"  He  is  happy,"  said  Nance,  with  stormy  wish  to  help  this 
woman,  stormy  grasp  of  the  courage  taught  her  by  the  hills. 
"  Our  men  are  bred  that  way ;  they  are  happiest  when  they're 
like  to  lose  their  necks — in  the  hunting-field,  or  on  Tower 
Hill,  or  wherever  the  good  God  wills.  I  think  Sir  Jasper  is 
happier  than  you  or  I." 

"  That  is  true."  Lady  Royd  made  the  most  of  her  slender 
height.  She  was  learning  the  way  of  royalty  at  last,  after 
Sir  Jasper  had  tried  patiently  to  teach  it  to  her  all  these 
years.  "And  I?  My  heart  is  breaking,  Nance;  but  I'll 
carry  my  wounds  as — as  he  would  carry  his.  They're  in  re- 
treat, I  tell  you,  and — and  we  shall  not  meet  again,  I  think — 
I,  and  the  husband  whom  I  love." 

"  Oh,  you  will  meet — and — and,  if  not "  said  Nance, 

with  that  nice  handling  of  high  faith  and  common  sense  which 
made  her  charm  so  human  and  so  likeable — "  you  love  him, 


THE  TALE  COMES  TO  WINDYHOUGH         225 

and  his  one  thought  is  for  you;  and  Rupert  would  tell  you 
that  death  is  so  little,  after  all." 

"  I  suppose  it  is,"  said  Lady  Royd,  with  a  petulant  shrug 
of  the  shoulders ;  "  but  it  is  tiresome  of  you,  Nance,  to  remind 
one  of  the  end  of  all  things  pleasant.  Oh,  by  your  leave,  my 
dear,  no  talk  of  faith!  I've  had  no  other  food  to  live  on 
these  last  months,  and  I  need  a  change  of  diet,  girl,  need — 
just  my  man's  arms  about  me,  and  his  voice  bidding  me  take 
heart  again.  I  tell  you,  we're  not  strong,  we  women,  without 
our  men  to  help  us." 

Nance  remembered  her  liking  for  Will  Underwood,  the 
shameful  end  of  it;  remembered  Rupert,  tramping  overhead 
not  long  ago  with  Simon  Foster  and  disdaining  all  the  songs 
that  should  have  brought  him  to  her  side.  And  her  grasp  of 
life  grew  firmer  on  the  sudden.  It  was  true,  as  spoiled,  way- 
ward Lady  Royd  had  said,  that  women,  since  the  world's  be- 
ginning, need  the  strong  arms  of  their  men  about  them. 

Simon  Foster,  meanwhile,  had  done  his  round  of  the  house, 
had  said  good-night  to  Rupert;  and  afterwards  he  had  gone 
down  to  the  kitchens,  his  step  like  a  lover's.  He  did  not  find 
Martha  there,  and  answered  the  sly  banter  of  the  women-serv- 
ants by  saying  that  he  needed  to  cross  to  the  mistals,  to 
see  how  the  roan  cow,  that  was  sick  of  milk-fever,  was 
faring. 

"  You'll  find  Martha  there,"  said  a  pert  scullery-maid ;  "  and 
I'm  sorry  for  the  roan  cow,  Simon." 

"  And  why  ?  "  asked  Simon,  tired  long  since  of  all  women 
except  one. 

"  Well,  you  alone — or  Martha  alone — you're  kindly  with  all 
ailments.  But,  put  the  two  o'  you  together — within  kissing 
distance — and  the  roan  cow  must  learn  to  bellow  if  she  needs 
be  heard." 

Simon  Foster  turned  about.  He  was  the  lone  man  fighting 
for  his  liberty.  "  I'm  fair  blanketed  with  women  these  days," 
he  growled.  "  Their  lile,  daft  ways  go  meeting  a  plain  man  at 
every  turning  of  the  stairs." 


226  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  One  maid's  lile,  daft  ways  have  sent  your  wits  astray, 
Simon,"  purred  his  adversary. 

Simon  straightened  his  bent  shoulders.  The  young  light 
was  in  his  eyes  again.  He  looked  comely;  for  a  man  at  bay 
shows  always  the  qualities  that  are  hidden  by  sleek  prosperity. 
"  Well,  yes,"  he  said ;  "  but  Martha  happens  to  be  worth 
twenty  of  you  silly  kitchen  wenches — that's  why  I  chose  her." 

The  pert  maid  took  up  a  clout  from  the  table,  aimed  it  at 
Simon,  and  missed  him  by  three  feet  or  so. 

"  The  master  [could  teach  you  a  lesson,"  he  chuckled. 
"  We've  been  up  the  pastures  these  days,  shooting.  And 
master  has  got  a  bee  in  his  bonnet,  like,  about  this  gunshot 
business.  '  Simon/  he  says  to  me,  no  further  back  than  yes- 
terday, 'there's  nothing  matters,  except  to  see  straight  and 
to  aim  straight.  We  may  be  needed  by  and  by/  " 

It  was  so  that  Simon  got  away,  and  went  out  a  conqueror 
for  his  little  moment,  because  he  had  silenced  the  strife  of 
women's  tongues.  Across  the  darkness  of  the  mistal-yard 
a  lanthorn  came  glimmering  fitfully,  as  Martha  crossed  from 
the  byres  to  the  house. 

"  Well,  Martha  ?  "  said  Foster,  striding  into  the  flickering 
belt  of  light. 

"Well,  Simon?"  she  answered,  without  surprise.  She  was 
no  lass  in  her  teens,  to  think  that  grown  men  welcome  fright ; 
and  so  she  did  not  scream,  sudden  as  his  intrusion  was. 

"  I've  been  thinking,  lass." 

"And  so  have  I.  The  roan  cow  is  easier,  thanks  to  me; 
and  all  the  while  I  put  the  salt-bags  on,  and  cosseted  her, 
and  teased  her  back  to  health,  I  thought  a  deal,  Simon." 

"  What,  of  me  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  sprightly  air. 

An  owl,  far  down  the  sloping  fields,  sounded  her  call  as 
she  swooped  to  kill  rats  and  field-mice  for  her  larder.  And 
Martha,  though  the  light  from  her  lanthorn  was  dim  enough 
to  hide  it,  could  not  forego  a  touch  of  coquetry. 

"  Of  you  ?  "  she  laughed,  setting  a  finger  to  her  dimpled 


THE  TALE  COMES  TO  WINDYHOUGH         227 

cheek.  "  Hark  to  yond  owl.  You're  all  alike,  you  hunting- 
folk;  you've  the  masterful,  sharp  voice  with  you." 

"  Seems  somebody  has  got  to  be  masterful  these  days.  I've 
driven  sheep  to  market,  and  I've  tried  to  drive  pigs,  and  I've 
handled  skew-tempered  horses;  but  for  sheer,  daft  contrari- 
ness, give  me  a  houseful  o'  women,  with  few  men  to  guide 
'em." 

"  You're  not  liking  women  these  days  ? "  said  Martha 
tartly. 

"  Aye,  by  ones  or  twos.  It's  when  they  swarm  about  a 
house,  like  a  hive  o'  bees,  that  lone  men  get  feared,  like,  o' 
your  indoor  fooleries.  Anyway,  Martha,  I  wish  I  were  out 
with  Sir  Jasper —  just  as  Master  Rupert  does." 

"  And  you  talked  of — of  liking  me — not  so  very  long  since." 

"Aye,  and  meant  it;  but  how's  a  man  to  find  speech  wi' 
the  one  lass  he  wants,  when  yard  and  kitchen's  filled  wi' 
women  he's  never  a  need  for?" 

"  Well,  that's  how  I  feel,"  said  Martha,  unexpectedly. 
"  Women  are  made  that  way,  Simon ;  they're  silly  when  they 
herd  too  thick  together." 

"  There's  like  to  be  a  change  before  so  very  long,"  put  in 
the  other  hurriedly,  as  if  he  talked  of  the  next  day's  ride  to 
market.  "  It  seems  this  bonnie  Prince  they  make  such  a 
crack  of  has  turned  back  from  Derby.  And  we're  near  the 
line  they'll  take,  Martha;  and,  please  God,  there's  a  chance 
the  fight  will  come  Windyhough  way." 

"  And  you'll  be  killed,  Simon  ?  "  she  said,  coming  so  close 
to  him  that  the  horn-top  of  her  lantern  scorched  his  hand. 

"  Maybe  not.  There's  two  sides  go  to  a  killing,  same  as  to 
a  bargain.  It  might  happen,  like,  that  t'other  lad  went 
down." 

"  But  what  of  me,  Simon,  if — if  it  chanced  otherwise?" 

"  I'm  not  meaning  to  let  it  chance  otherwise,  my  lass. 
I've  you  to  think  of  these  days."  And  then  he  drew  apart, 
after  the  fashion  of  men  when  'war  is  in  the  air.  "  Master 


228  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

Rupert  shapes  gradely,"  he  said.  "  I  always  said  he  had 
the  makings  of  a  soldier  in  him." 

"Oh,  he's  a  scholar,"  said  Martha.  "I  like  him  well 
enough — we  all  do — but  he  wears  his  head  i'  the  clouds, 
Simon." 

"  Tuts !  He's  never  had  his  chance.  You're  all  for  young 
Master  Maurice;  he's  stronger  and  more  showy,  as  second 
bairns  are  apt  to  be;  but  gi'e  me  the  young  master's  settled 
pluck." 

"  Gi'e  me,"  said  Martha,  with  bewildering  tenderness,  "  the 
end  of  all  this  Rising  trouble,  and  us  two  in  a  farm  together, 
wi'  a  churn  to  work  at,  and  an  ingle-nook  to  sit  by  when  the 
day's  work  is  over  wi'.  I'd  not  sell  that  farm  I've  dreamed 
of,  Simon,  for  all  your  bonnie  Prince's  love-locks." 

"  Well,  as  for  love-locks,"  said  the  other,  his  thoughts  still 
busier  with  war  than  peace,  "  he  has  none  so  many  left  these 
days.  He's  a  plain  man,  riding  troubled  roads;  and  he  car- 
ries himself  like  a  man,  they  say,  or  near  thereby." 

Martha  lifted  her  lanthorn  suddenly  to  his  face.  "  Aye. 
you  carry  the  *  far '  look,"  she  said  jealously.  "  Cattle  i'  the 
byre,  the  quiet  lowing  o'  them,  and  a  hearth-place  warm  and 
ready  for  ye — they're  windle-straws  to  ye  just  now,  my  lad." 

And  Simon  laughed.  "  I'd  like  one  straight-up  fight,  I 
own,  before  I  settle  down.  It's  i'  the  blood,  ye  see.  I  car- 
ried a  pike  i'  the  last  Rising,  and  killed  one  here  and  there, 
and  took  my  wounds.  A  man  no  way  forgets,  Martha,  the 
young,  pleasant  days.  And  there's  danger  near  the  house,  if 
all  Mr.  Oliphant  said  be  true." 

"  Well,  gang  in  and  meet  it,  then,"  snapped  Martha,  "  if 
your  stiffened  joints  will  let  you." 

She  was  sore  with  jealousy,  though  Simon's  battle-hunger 
was  her  only  rival,  and  struck  at  random,  cruelly,  as  women 
do  at  these  times,  because  God  made  them  so.  And  Simon, 
because  men  are  made  so,  winced,  and  recovered,  and  said 
never  a  word  as  he  crossed  to  the  kitchen  door. 

"  Simon ! "  she  called,  with  late-found  penitence. 


THE  TALE  COMES  TO  WINDYHOUGH         229 

He  did  not  turn  his  head,  but  strode  indoors,  through  the 
running  banter  that  met  him  by  the  way,  and  went  upstairs  to 
find  Rupert  standing  by  the  loophole  that  overlooked  the  main 
doorway. 

"At  your  post,  master?"  he  said  dryly. 

Rupert  turned  sharply.  "  You  disturbed  a  dream  of  mine," 
he  said,  in  his  well-bred,  scholarly  voice.  "  I  was  fancying 
men  were  out  in  the  moonlit  courtyard,  that  I  aimed  straight, 
Simon,  and  shot  a  few  of  those  black  rats  from  Hanover." 

Simon  chuckled  soberly.  He  liked  to  hear  his  favourite 
lapse  from  the  orderly  speech  that  was  his  usual  habit. 

"They'll  come,  sure  enough,"  he  said  gruffly.  "We've 
waited  over-long,  you  and  me,  to  miss  some  chance  o'  frolic 
at  the  last." 

Rupert,  with  his  large,  royal  air,  disdaining  always  the  lean, 
scholarly  form  he  carried,  laughed  gently.  "  My  faith  is 
weak  to-night,  Simon.  So  little  happens,  and  God  knows  I've 
prayed  for  open  battle." 

"  Well,  bide,"  said  Simon.  "  I've  my  own  fancy,  too, 
though  I  was  never  what  you  might  call  a  prayerful  man,  that 
the  battle's  coming  up  this  way.  My  old  wounds  are  plaguing 
me,  master,  like  to  burn  me  up;  and  you  may  say  it's  th' 
change  i'  the  weather,  if  it  pleases  ye,  but  I  think  different." 

Rupert  welcomed  the  other's  guarded  prophecy,  for  to- 
night he  needed  hope.  And  he  fell  again  to  looking  through 
the  loophole  on  to  the  empty,  moonlit  courtyard;  and  sud- 
denly, from  the  far  side  of  the  house,  he  heard  Nance's  voice 
again,  as  she  tried  to  sing  a  little  of  Lady  Royd's  heart- 
sickness  away. 

The  voice,  so  low  and  strong  and  charitable,  the  thought 
of  her  face,  her  brown,  waving  hair,  her  candid  eyes,  struck 
Rupert  with  intolerable  pain  and  sense  of  loss.  He  recalled 
the  years  when  he  should  have  been  up  and  doing,  winning  his 
spurs  like  other  men.  His  shy,  half-ironic,  half -scholarly 
aloofness  from  the  life  of  every  day  showed  as  a  thing  con- 
temptible. He  magnified  his  shortcomings,  accused  himself 


280  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

of  cowardice,  not  physical  cowardice,  but  moral.  All  these 
years,  while  his  love  for  Nance  was  growing,  he  should  have 
been  conquering  the  weakness  that  separated  him  from  his 
fellows,  should  have  been  climbing  the  steep  path  of  hard- 
ship, training  himself  to  be  strong  as  his  passion  for  Nance 
Demaine. 

To-night,  as  he  thought  of  these  things,  he  understood, 
to  the  last  depth,  this  love  that  possessed  him  utterly.  It  was 
a  soldier's  love,  a  strong  man's.  It  was  content  to  forego, 
content  to  watch  and  guard  and  work,  so  long  as  Nance  was 
happy,  though  to  himself  it  brought  tumult  and  unrest 
enough.  The  keen,  man's  longing  to  claim  her  for  his  own, 
to  take  her  out  of  reach  of  such  as  Will  Underwood,  had 
given  him  many  an  evil  day  and  night;  but  through  it  all, 
unconquerable,  had  come  that  strong,  chivalrous  desire  to  keep 
her  feet  from  the  puddles  and  the  mire  of  life,  to  serve  her 
hand  and  foot,  and  afterwards,  since  he  was  needful  to  her 
in  no  other  way,  to  stand  by  and  watch  her  happiness  from 
some  shadowed  corner. 

There  was  all  his  life's  training,  all  the  tenor  of  his  long, 
boyhood's  thoughts,  in  this  fine  regard  he  brought  Squire 
Demaine's  daughter.  There  was,  too,  the  Stuart  training 
that  had  deepened  the  old  Royd  instincts  given  him  at  birth. 
It  was,  in  part,  the  devotion  he  would  have  given  a  queen 
if  he  had  been  her  cavalier;  and,  through  it  all,  there  went 
that  silver  skein  of  haplessness  and  abnegation  bravely  borne 
which  is  in  the  woof  and  weft  of  all  things  Stuart.  He  knew 
the  unalterable  strength  and  beauty  of  his  love;  and,  with  a 
sudden  overmastering  shame,  he  saw  himself — himself,  unfit 
to  join  the  Rising,  useless  and  a  stay-at-home,  beside  this 
other  picture  of  his  high,  chivalrous  regard  for  Nance.  He 
laughed  bitterly.  It  was  grotesque,  surely,  that  so  fine  a  pas- 
sion should  be  in  charge  of  such  a  weakling. 

And  then,  from  the  midst  of  his  humiliation  and  pain,  he 
plucked  courage  and  new  hope.  It  was  his  way,  as  it  had  been 
his  father's.  If  this  dream  of  his  came  true — if  the  retreat 


THE  TALE  COME3  TO  WINDYHOUGH          231 

swept  up  this  way,  as  Simon  hoped,  and  gave  work  into  his 
hands — he  would  give  Nance  deeds  at  last. 

"  The  night  is  not  so  empty  as  it  was,  Simon,"  he  said, 
turning  sharply.     "  We'll  patrol  the  house." 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   GALLOP 

THE  retreat  had  moved  up  through  Staffordshire  and 
Cheshire,  always  evading  the  pursuit  that  followed  it  so 
closely  from  many  separate  quarters.  The  Highlanders  had 
ever  their  hearts  turned  backward  to  the  London  road — the 
road  of  battle;  but  old  habit  made  their  feet  move  briskly 
along  the  route  mapped  out  for  them.  They  set  the  pace  for 
the  Lowland  foot,  less  used  to  the  swinging  stride  that  was 
half  a  run ;  and  for  this  reason  the  Prince's  army  went  north- 
ward at  a  speed  incredible  to  Marshal  Wade,  the  Duke  of 
Cumberland,  and  other  heavy-minded  generals  who  were 
eager  in  pursuit. 

There  was  irony  in  the  whole  sad  business.  A  few  cau- 
tious leaders  of  the  clans  apart,  few  men  were  anxious  to 
succeed  in  this  retreat.  They  would  have  welcomed  any 
hindrance  by  the  way  that  allowed  one  or  more  of  the  pur- 
suing armies  to  come  up  with  them.  Food  was  often  lack- 
ing, because  defeated  folk  are  apt  t'o  find  less  wayside  hospi- 
tality than  conquerors;  their  feet  were  sore  from  long  con- 
tact with  the  wet  roads,  that  both  chafed  and  softened  them ; 
yet  their  worst  hardship  was  the  need  for  battle  that  found  no 
food  to  thrive  on.  Behind  them  Cumberland  was  cursing  his 
luck  because  he  could  not  catch  them  up;  yet,  had  he  known 
it,  he  was  the  gainer  by  his  failure.  If  he  and  his  mixed  com- 
pany of  hirelings  had  met  the  Prince's  men  just  now,  they 
would  have  been  ridden  through  and  through,  as  Colonel 
Gardiner's  men  had  been  at  Prestonpans  in  the  first  battle  of 
the  Rising.  For  the  Highlander  is  sad  and  gusty  as  the  mist- 
topped  hills  that  cradled  him;  but  when  the  mood  is  on  him, 
when  all  seems  lost,  and  he  is  gay  because  the  odds  are  ludi- 

232 


THE  GALLOP  233 

crously  against  him,  he  goes  bare-sark  to  the  fight  and  accom- 
plishes what  more  stolid  men  name  miracles. 

They  went  north — the  men  who  wished  to  overtake  and  the 
men  who  yearned  to  be  overtaken.  And  the  luck  was  all  with 
Marshal  Wade  and  Cumberland,  for  the  Prince's  army  con- 
stantly evaded  them.  There  are  times,  maybe,  when  God 
proves  His  gentlemen  by  the  road  of  sick  retreat,  by  denial 
of  the  fight  they  seek.  But  few  win  through  this  sort  of 
hazard. 

Sir  Jasper  was  leading  his  own  little  troop  of  gentry,  yeo- 
men, and  farmer-folk  when  they  crossed  the  Cheshire  border 
and  made  up  into  Lancashire,  and  neared  the  bluff  heights 
that  were  his  homeland.  The  wind  was  shrewd  still  from  the 
northeast,  and  sleet  was  driving  from  the  grey-black  mist  that 
swept  the  hilltops,  yet  Sir  Jasper,  by  the  look  of  the  shrouded 
hills,  by  the  smell  of  the  wind  in  his  teeth,  knew  that  he  was 
home  again  in  Lancashire.  Love  of  women  is  a  hazardous 
and  restless  enterprise,  and  a  man's  leal  liking  for  his  friend 
is  apt  to  be  upset  by  jealousies ;  but  love  of  the  hills  that  can- 
not lie,  love  of  the  feel  and  scents  and  sounds  of  the  country 
that  he  loves  never  desert  the  native-born.  They  are  there, 
like  a  trusty  dog,  running  eagerly  before  him  when  he  is  home 
again,  biding  on  the  threshold  with  a  welcome  if  he  chances 
to  be  absent. 

Until  now  Sir  Jasper  had  been  much  with  his  men,  had  light- 
ened their  spirits  as  best  he  could  through  this  evil  march 
toward  reinforcements  in  which  few  believed.  But  now 
some  wildness  seemed  to  come  to  him  from  the  windy  moors 
that  had  bred  him.  He  was  tired  of  leading  men  against  the 
emptiness  that  met  them  day  by  day,  and  remembered  the 
lonely  figure  of  his  Prince,  who  was  still  obstinate,  despite 
Captain  Goldstein's  late  attack,  in  riding  often  behind  the  rear- 
guard of  his  army.  More  than  once,  since  leaving  Derby, 
Sir  Jasper  had  ridden  back  along  the  route,  had  found  the 
Prince  separated  by  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the  last  of  the 
stragglers,  and  had  tarried  with  him,  partly  to  be  near  if  the 


234  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

danger  which  he  seemed  to  court  recurred,  and  partly  because 
the  close  and  friendly  intimacy  that  was  growing  between 
them  had  a  charm  that  lightened  the  trouble  of  the  road. 

To-day,  as  they  came  nearer  still  to  his  own  country — the 
march  was  planned  to  reach  Langton  by  nightfall — Sir  Jasper 
yielded  to  his  restless  mood.  He  turned  to  Maurice,  who  was 
riding  at  his  bridle  hand. 

"  Take  our  men  forward,  boy,"  he  said.  "  I'll  join  ygu  by 
and  by." 

Maurice  showed  few  traces  of  the  high  spirits  that  had 
set  him  galloping  once  after  Nance  Demaine  in  a  race  for 
the  glove  she  was  to  forfeit  if  he  caught  her  up,  of  the  fiery 
eagerness  with  which  he  had  fought  his  brother  Rupert  on  the 
moor.  He  could  not  understand  the  reason  of  his  turn  about 
from  Derby.  Since  childhood  he  had  been  used  to  find  action 
ready  to  his  hand,  used  to  the  open  life  of  the  fields,  in  saddle 
or  with  a  gun  under  his  arm ;  and  he  was  baffled  by  this  slow, 
rain-sodden  tramp  over  roads  that  led  only  to  the  next  night's 
bivouac.  The  constant  rains,  moreover,  had  increased  his 
saddle-soreness  and  had  given  him  a  maddening  toothache; 
and  it  is  hard,  at  two-and-twenty,  to  bear  any  pain  of  body, 
apart  from  that  associated  with  heroic  wounds. 

"  I  will  take  them  forward,  sir,"  he  answered  moodily, 
"  though  I've  no  gift  of  heartening  them,  as  you  have.  If 
you  promised  me  all  Lancashire,  I  could  not  crack  a  jest  with 
them  just  now." 

Sir  Jasper  turned  his  head  sharply,  glanced  at  Maurice 
with  the  shrewd,  steady  eyes  of  middle  age.  "  You  were  not 
out  in  the  '15  Rising,  lad,"  he  snapped.  "  I  was  through  it — 
and  thirty  years  have  gone  under  the  bridge  since  then — and 
I've  learned  to  wait.  Waiting  trains  a  man,  I  tell  you." 

"  Waiting  has  given  me  the  most  devilish  toothache,  sir." 

And  his  father  laughed.  So  had  he  felt  himself  when, 
long  ago,  an  untried  boy,  he  had  shared  the  troubles  of  a  dis- 
astrous Rising.  "  There's  a  worse  malady,"  he  said  dryly. 

"  None  that  I  can  think  of  at  this  moment." 


THE  GALLOP  235 

"Try  heartache,  Maurice — the  Prince  can  tell  you  what 
that  means.  And  I  can  tell  you,  maybe.  It  comes  to  older 
men,  like  gout.  For  the  rest,  you  take  your  orders.  You're 
in  command  of  our  Lancashire  lads  till  I  return." 

Maurice  answered,  not  the  words  but  the  quiet  hardihood 
of  this  father  who  had  licked  him  into  some  semblance  of  a 
man.  "  I'm  in  charge,  sir — till  you  return,"  he  answered 
gravely. 

Sir  Jasper  drew  apart,  to  the  edge  of  the  rising,  heathery 
bank  that  flanked  the  road ;  and  he  watched  the  horsemen  and 
the  foot  go  by.  Highlanders  passed  him  with  bowed  shoul- 
ders, moving  like  dullards  who  have  forgotten  hope ;  for  they 
had  the  temperament  which  does  high  deeds  to  set  the  world's 
songs  aflame,  or  which  refuses  hope  of  any  sort.  The  Low- 
landers  wore  a  grim  and  silent  air,  carrying  disillusion  with 
dourness  and  reserve.  But  grief  was  manifest  in  every 
face. 

Whether  he  died  soon  or  late,  Sir  Jasper  would  not  forget 
this  long  pageant  of  despair  that  went  by  him  along  the  sod- 
den northward  tracks.  Five  thousand  men,  with  souls  keen 
and  eager,  had  been  ready  for  the  fight ;  and  they  were  march- 
ing north  unsatisfied.  Sir  Jasper  by  habit,  was  careful  of 
his  tongue;  but  now  he  cursed  Lord  George  Murray  with 
quiet  and  resolute  exactness.  The  wind  was  cold,  and  the 
sleet  nipped  his  face;  but  the  chilliest  thing  that  he  had  met 
in  life  was  this  surrender  of  leal  folk  to  such  a  man  as  Mur- 
ray. It  was  unbelievable,  and  he  was  compelled  to  take  a 
new,  firmer  grip  of  the  faith  which  had  heartened  him  through 
lesser  storms. 

The  last  of  the  army  passed,  and  Sir  Jasper  sighed  sharply 
as  he  reined  his  horse  toward  the  south  and  looked  for  the 
one  figure — the  figure  prominent  among  them  all — that  had 
been  missing.  And  presently  a  solitary  horseman  came  round 
the  bend  of  the  highway.  He  carried  his  shoulders  square, 
his  head  erect ;  yet,  under  his  royal  disdain  of  circumstances, 
there  was  the  Stuart  sadness  plainly  marked. 


236  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

The  Prince  glanced  up  as  he  saw  the  other  ride  to  meet 
him.  "  Ah !  you,  Sir  Jasper,"  he  said  quietly.  "  You 
were  ever  of  my  mind — to  be  where  our  soldiers  need  us 
most." 

"  You  give  me  too  much  praise,"  began  Sir  Jasper,  and 
could  get  no  farther. 

The  Prince  and  he  were  alone  on  this  barren  road — alone 
in  the  world,  it  seemed,  comrades  in  the  bitter  sleet-time  of 
adversity — and  he  was  shaken  by  a  sudden,  desperate  pity, 
by  a  loyalty  toward  this  royal  fugitive  and  a  gladness  that  he 
was  privileged  to  share  a  moment  of  defeat  with  him.  He 
knew,  to  a  heart-beat,  what  the  other  was  suffering.  They 
had  the  like  aims,  the  like  hardihood;  and  intuition  taught 
them  to  be  brothers,  the  older  man  and  the  young,  here  on 
the  northern  road. 

"Your  Highness,  I  have — I  have  no  words/'  he  said  at 
last. 

"  Ah,  there ! "  said  the  Prince,  with  a  gentleness  that  was 
cousin  to  abiding  sorrow.  "  I  know  what  you  would  say. 
Best  leave  it  unsaid." 

They  jogged  up  the  road  together  in  silence,  each  busy  with 
thoughts  that  were  the  same. 

"  It  is  incredible,"  growled  Sir  Jasper  presently,  as  if  the 
words  escaped  him  unawares. 

The  Prince  shrugged  his  shoulders,  with  a  touch  of  the 
French  habit  that  still  clung  to  him.  "  But  so  is  life,  my 
friend — each  day  of  it  the  most  astounding  muddle  of  sur- 
prises. They  said  I  could  not  land  in  Scotland  and  bring  an 
ill-trained  army  through  the  heart  of  England.  I  did  it, 
by  grace  of  God.  And  then  we  said  that  the  road  from 
Derby  to  the  throne  was  open  to  us — and  so  it  was,  but  for 
one  obstacle  we  had  forgotten." 

"  Your  Highness,"  said  the  other,  with  sharp  remembrance 
of  the  past,  "  I  could  have  removed  that  obstacle — and  would 
not.  I  did  not  serve  you  well." 

"  What !  removed  the  Highlanders'  gospel  that  they  serve 


THE  GALLOP  237 

their  own  chieftain  first  and  after  that  their  king?  With 
faith  you  might  do  it,  sir— the  faith  that  removes  mountains; 
but  otherwise " 

"  I  had  my  lord  Murray's  life  at  command— and— I  did  not 
take  it." 

The  Prince's  face  was  hard  when  he  heard  the  way  of  that 
duel  in  the  wood.  He  was  thinking  not  at  all  of  pity  and 
chivalrous  scruples,  but  of  the  men  entrusted  to  his  care  who 
had  been  routed  by  Murray's  prudent  obstinacy.  "  God  for- 
give you,  sir !  "  he  said  gravely.  "  I  wish  you  had  not  told 
me  this.  With  Murray  laid  aside  I  should  have  had  my  way 
at  Derby." 

Sir  Jasper  peeped  now  behind  the  veil  of  that  disastrous 
Council,  guessed  how  disordered  the  party  of  retreat  would 
have  been  without  their  leader.  And  he  glanced  at  the 
Prince's  face — he  who  loved  and  had  followed  him  into  the 
unknown  for  sake  of  warm,  unquestioning  loyalty — and  read 
only  condemnation  there.  And  because  he  was  wearier  than 
he  knew,  it  seemed  that  all  his  strength  and  steadfastness 
were  leaving  him.  Until  now  the  cold  and  hardship  had 
touched  his  body,  but  not  the  soul  of  him — the  soul  that  passed 
sorrows  through  the  mills  of  faith,  and  made  forward  battle- 
songs  of  them. 

His  comrade  in  adversity  glanced  round  on  him  suddenly, 
saw  how  hardly  he  was  taking  the  rebuke.  And  the  Prince, 
as  his  habit  was,  forgot  the  bitter  might-have-beens  and  ral- 
lied to  the  help  of  one  in  need. 

"  Sir  Jasper,"  he  said,  with  a  grace  boyish  in  its  candour, 
"  we're  bred  of  the  same  stuff,  you  and  I.  We  are  hot  and 
keen,  and  we  hate — as  far  as  the  gallows,  but  not  as  far  as 
the  rope.  It  seems  idle  that  one  Stuart  should  chide  another 
of  the  breed." 

"  I  served  you  ill,"  said  the  other.  "  He  was  known  already 
as  the  weak  link  of  the  chain — and  I  did  not  snap  it." 

"  It  would  have  lain  on  your  conscience.  You  could  not 
do  it,  that  was  all." 


238  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"You  are  kind,"  said  Sir  Jasper  slowly — "but  you  struck 
deep  just  now.  I've  feared  many  things  in  my  time,  but 
never  once  that  I  should  fail  the  Stuart." 

The  Prince  fumbled  in  the  tail  pocket  of  his  riding-coat, 
took  out  a  battered  pipe,  filled  and  lit  it — with  some  difficulty, 
for  the  tinder  in  his  box  was  none  too  dry.  "  I've  found 
three  good  things  in  my  travels,"  he  said,  blowing  clouds  of 
smoke  about  him — "  a  dog,  a  pipeful  of  tobacco,  and  friends 
like  yourself,  Sir  Jasper ;  they  seldom  fail  a  man.  I  was  hasty 
just  now,  for  I  was  thinking  of — of  my  Highlanders,  God 
help  them ! " 

And  again  a  silence  fell  between  them  as  they  rode  up  and 
down  the  winding  road  that  lay  now  a  short  six  miles  from 
Langton.  It  was  all  odd  and  unexpected  to  Sir  Jasper,  this 
ride  at  a  foot  pace  through  the  lonely,  hill-girt  lands  that  were 
his  homeland.  He  was  with  the  yellow-haired  laddie  who  had 
painted  dreams  for  him  on  the  broad  canvas  of  endeavour. 
And  the  dreams  had  had  their  end  at  Derby;  and  they  were 
here,  beaten  men  who  looked  each  other  in  the  face  and 
were  content  to  be  together. 

"  You  are  oddly  staunch,  sir,"  said  the  Prince  by  and  by. 
"  It  is  good  to  meet  a  man  in  all  this  wilderness  of  sleet  and 
cold  arithmetic." 

"  I  was  bred  to  be  staunch,  your  Highness.  My  father 
taught  me  the  way  of  it — and  his  father  in  the  days  before. 
There's  no  credit  to  the  tree  because  its  roots  happen  to  be 
planted  deep." 

The  other  smiled  at  Sir  Jasper's  childlike  statement  of  his 
case,  as  if  it  were  a  truth  plain  to  all  men.  "  You've  sons 
to  follow  you,  I  trust?  They'll  be  the  better  for  training  of 
that  sort." 

The  wind  blew  in  bitter  earnest  now  against  Sir  Jasper's 
face.  All  his  love  for  Rupert,  all  his  hidden  shame  that  the 
heir  could  not  ride  out  with  him,  were  so  many  weights  added 
suddenly  to  the  burden  he  was  carrying  already.  "  I  have 
one  son  with  me  in  the  Rising,"  he  said  gravely.  "  I  pre- 


THE  GALLOP  239 

sented  him  to  your  Highness — at  Langton,  I  think,  when 
we  rode  south." 

"  Why,  yes."  The  Prince  seldom  forgot  a  man's  record  or 
his  face.  "  A  ruddy,  clean-built  youngster,  who  went  pale  at 
sight  of  me,  as  if — as  if,  comrade,  I  were  made  of  less  com- 
mon clay  than  he.  I  remember  him.  He  tried  to  stammer 
out  some  hero-worship,  and  I  reminded  him  that  his  record 
was  probably  cleaner  than  my  own,  because  the  years  had 
given  him  less  chance  of  sinning.  And  he  was  shocked  by 
my  levity,  I  think.  Yes,  it  was  at  Langton,  just  before  the 
Vicar  went  up  the  street  to  ring  his  bells  for  me." 

Once  again  Sir  Jasper  was  surprised  by  this  Prince's  close 
touch  with  the  road  of  life  as  men  follow  it  every  day,  his 
catholic,  broad  understanding  of  his  fellows.  It  was  the 
Stuart  gift — the  gift  that  had  carried  them  to  the  throne  or 
to  the  scaffold — that  they  had  a  kingly  outlook  on  men's  needs 
and  their  infirmities,  and  would  not  surrender,  for  any  wind 
of  circumstance  that  blew  about  them,  their  royal  love  for 
big  or  little  of  the  men  who  trusted  them.  Sir  Jasper  was 
learning,  indeed,  what  afterwards  the  folk  in  Skve  were  to 
learn — in  Skye  and  in  Glenmoriston  and  in  a  hundred  lonely 
glens  among  the  Highlands — that  the  Prince  he  served  was 
the  simplest  and  most  human  man,  perhaps,  among  them  all. 

The  wind  dropped  as  they  rode,  and  the  sleet  ceased  falling 
for  a  while;  and  the  sun,  an  hour  before  its  setting,  struck 
through  the  clouds  that  had  hindered  it  all  day.  Lights,  mag- 
ical and  vivid,  began  to  paint  the  land's  harsh  face.  The 
moorland  peaks,  to  right  and  left,  were  crowned  with  fugitive, 
fast-racing  mists  of  blue  and  green  and  rose  colour;  and 
ahead  of  them,  astride  the  steep,  curving  rise  of  the  highway, 
there  was  a  belt  of  scarlet  that  seemed  to  flame  the  hills  with 
smoky  fire. 

"  Your  land  is  beautiful,  Sir  Jasper,"  said  the  Prince,  halt- 
ing a  moment  to  breathe  his  horse  as  they  reached  the  hill- 
top. "  I  did  not  guess  it  when  we  rode  south  through  sun- 
less mire." 


240  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

It  is  in  time  of  defeat  and  stress  that  the  deep  chords  of  a 
man's  soul  are  struck,  and  now  Sir  Jasper's  face  lit  up.  "  My 
land  of  Lancashire — it  is  always  beautiful  to  me.  It  cradled 
me.  There's  no  midwinter  bleakness  can  drive  away  remem- 
brance of  the  pleasant  days  we've  shared." 

"  You  speak  as  men  do  who  are  married  happily,"  laughed 
the  Prince.  "  This  barbarous  country  is  just  a  wife  to  you, 
I  think — her  temper  may  be  vile,  but  you  remember  gentler 
days." 

Sir  Jasper  fell  in  with  his  mood,  and  smiled  as  if  he  jested ; 
but  he  talked  of  matters  very  dear  to  the  honest,  simple  heart 
of  him.  "  I  can  count  on  my  fingers,  your  Highness,  the 
things  in  life  that  are  of  importance  to  me — my  Faith,  my 
Prince,  the  wife  who's  waiting  for  me  over  yonder  at  Windy- 
hough,  and  my  lads — and  the  dear  moors  o'  Lancashire  that 
bred  me." 

Their  eyes  met;  and,  somewhere  from  his  tired,  hunted 
mood,  the  Prince  found  a  candour  equal  to  Sir  Jasper's  own. 
"  Faith  first,"  he  said  quietly,  "  but  your  wife  before  your 
Prince,  by  your  leave.  I — I  have  not  deserved  well  of  you, 
Sir  Jasper.  I  asked  you  to  take  me  to  the  throne,  and — I 
have  given  you  this." 

Sir  Jasper  thought  of  his  wife,  her  weak  caprices,  the 
yapping  of  the  toy  spaniel  that  had  its  mimic  cradle  in  their 
bedroom  at  Windyhough — thought  of  Rupert,  who  should 
have  been  beside  him  now — thought  of  all  that  had  hindered 
him  through  these  years.  For  he  was  not  as  young  as  his 
keen  ardour  wished,  and  these  empty  days  of  bodily  hard- 
ship, with  no  reward  of  fight  to  hearten  them,  had  sapped  his 
courage.  Yet  he  responded,  bravely  enough,  to  the  challenge. 

"  My  wife,  God  bless  her !  is — so  dear  that  we'll  not  give 
her  any  place,  your  Highness.  She  claims  her  own,  by 
right." 

The  Prince  puffed  gently  at  the  disreputable,  blackened 
pipe  he  cherished.  He  glanced  at  the  hills,  saw  the  next 
storm  creep  grey  and  wan  across  the  sunset  lights.  "  It  is 


THE  GALLOP  241 

a  savage  land,"  he  said  dispassionately.  "I  never  guessed 
it  could  breed  courtiers.  Your  wife,  if  she  were  near,  would 
be  pleased  to  know  the  temper  of  your  constancy— it  is  hard 
and  lithe  as  whipcord,  sir,  like  a  sword-blade  forged  by  old 
Andrew  Ferrara." 

They  jogged  on  again,  at  the  foot  pace  to  which  the  Prince 
had  trained  himself  since  Derby;  and  presently  they  came 
to  a  broad,  grassy  lane  that  led,  wide  to  the  left  hand,  into 
the  sunset  moors.  And  Sir  Jasper  checked  his  horse  and  sat 
rigidly  in  saddle,  looking  up  the  byway. 

"  What  ails  you  ?  "  asked  the  Prince. 

"  Remembrance,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  turning  his  horse's  head 
away  from  the  road  it  knew  by  heart.  "  It  is  no  time  for 
rosemary,  you  think?  And  yet " 

"  You  talk  in  riddles." 

"  No,  pardon  me ;  I  talk — of  the  road  that  leads  to  my  own 
house  of  Windyhough — and  to  my  wife — and  to  the  son  I 
left  at  home." 

"  Why,  then,  ride  across  and  snatch  a  glimpse  of  them," 
said  the  other,  quick  to  respond  to  the  need  of  a  man's 
heart. 

"And  desert  a  retreating  army,  your  Highness?" 

"  There's  no  desertion.  We  are  hear  our  quarters  for  the 
night — and  nothing  happens,  as  you  know,  in  the  way  of  sud- 
den battles.  Our  luck  is  out  just  now.  Go,  see  your  wife, 
sir — you've  earned  the  holiday — and  then  ride  across  coun- 
try to  Langton.  We  march  from  there  at  daybreak." 

"  I  do  not  ask  ease,"  said  Sir  Jasper  stubbornly.  "  We're 
following  the  road  of  discipline,  and  wives,  I  think,  must 
wait." 

The  Prince  glanced  pleasantly  at  him.  "  Probe  light  or 
deep,  sir,  you're  most  amazingly  a  soldier."  He  smiled — so 
had  Mary  Stuart  smiled  once  amid  disaster,  and  so  had 
Charles  when  he  stepped  to  the  scaffold — secure  and  gravely 
happy.  "  You  will  take  your  orders,"  he  went  on,  "  as  good 
soldiers  do.  There  was  a  breach  of  discipline — I  forgot  to 


242  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

chide  you  when  you  spoke  of  it  just  now.  I  mean  the  duel 
you  provoked  with  Lord  Murray  in  the  wood.  Your  pun- 
ishment is — just  to  ride  through  the  vile  weather  you  breed 
up  here  and  give  my  thanks  to  Lady  Royd  for  the  husband 
she  lent  so  recklessly  to  barren  leadership.  And  rejoin  me 
with  the  dawn.  I  command  you,  sir ! "  he  added  sharply, 
seeing  that  Sir  Jasper  hesitated  stilL 

"  Then  I  obey,  your  Highness ;  but  you  will  let  me  watch 
you  out  of  sight" 

"  But  why  ?  Langton  is  so  near.  Are  you  afraid  that  an- 
other band  of  cavalry — cart-horse  cavalry — will  catch  me 
up?  Miss  Demaine's  mare,  that  carries  me,  will  show  them 
light  heels  enough." 

Sir  Jasper  looked  at  this  man,  whose  body  and  whose  soul 
were  kingly,  this  man  to  whom  he  had  entrusted  many  dreams 
and  sacrifices.  And  the  tears  were  in  his  eyes  again,  he  knew 
not  why.  "  When  a  man  loves  deep,  your  Highness,  he  fears. 
I  ask  you  to  let  me  guard  the  road  behind  you." 

"  You  love  me  ?  After  this  retreat — after  the  cursed  roads 
and  hopelessness — you — you  love  me?  Say  it  again,  sir." 

"  What  else  ?    None  ever  loved  a  Stuart  yet  by  halves." 

The  Prince  tapped  him  gently  on  the  shoulder.  "When 
better  days  come  in,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  make  you  acquainted 
with  my  Highlanders.  They  love  as  deep  as  you,  and,  know- 
ing myself,  I  wonder  at  their  blindness." 

It  was  so  they  parted,  wayfarers  who  had  found  leal  com- 
radeship and  trust.  And  no  momentary  parting  of  the  wa,vs 
could  ever  sunder  them  again ;  for  trust  is  not  born  among  the 
crowded  shows  of  life,  but  in  the  lonely  byways  where  man 
meets  man  and  finds 'him  likeable. 

Sir  Jasper  sat  in  saddle  at  the  parting  of  the  ways,  and 
watched  the  Prince  go  slowly  up  the  road.  The  long  strain 
was  telling  on  him,  and  the  bitter  wind  chilled  all  his  outlook 
for  a  moment.  A  sense  of  foreboding  took  him  unawares. 
It  seemed  that  the  Prince,  in  riding  so  far  behind  his  army, 
was  courting  death;  as  if  he  preferred  to  be  overtaken,  here 


THE  GALLOP  245 

in  England,  rather  than  go  back,  a  broken  man,  to  his  own 
land  across  the  border. 

"No!"  he  growled,  with  sharp  contempt  of  the  thought. 
"  He's  heart-sick — but  no  coward." 

He  gave  a  last  glance  up  the  road,  as  one  follows  a  de- 
parting friend  long  after  he  is  lost  to  sight,  sighed  impa- 
tiently, and  turned  his  horse  into  the  bridle-way  that  led  to 
Windyhough.  Then  he  reined  about,  suddenly  aware  of  gal- 
loping hoofs,  of  the  fret  of  horses  checked  too  sharply  on 
the  curb,  of  a  harsh  voice  that  bade  him  halt. 

Goldstein's  men  had  tracked  their  quarry,  day  after  patient 
day,  since  their  first  attempt  at  Derby  to  capture  the  Prince's 
person.  Three  times  they  had  found  him  so  far  behind  his 
army  that  he  seemed  an  easy  prey;  and  three  times — follow- 
ing what  some  would  call  a  random  whim,  and  others  the 
guidance  of  the  God  he  served — the  Prince,  not  knowing  his 
enemies  were  near,  had  grown  tired  of  guarding  the  rear  and 
had  galloped  forward  suddenly  to  join  his  men  and  pass  a 
jest  among  them.  And  Goldstein  knew  that  his  hold  on  the 
rough  cavalry  he  led  was  weakening  day  by  day.  He  had 
kept  them  to  heel  only  by  crude  and  persistent  reminders  that 
thirty  thousand  pounds,  as  represented  by  the  Stuart,  were 
worth  some  patience  in  the  gaining. 

Sir  Jasper,  reining  sharply  round,  saw  a  company  of  men — 
a  score  or  so — who  wore  the  Hanoverian  livery;  and  at  the 
head  of  them  was  a  blunt,  red-featured  officer  who  looked 
singularly  like  a  farmer  who  had  lived  neighbour  to  the  ale- 
barrel.  And  he  knew  them  for  the  men  who  had  given  chase 
at  Derby,  though  as  yet  they  had  no  answering  recollection 
of  the  friend  who  had  ridden  close  beside  the  Prince's  bridle- 
hand  that  day. 

"Your  business,  sir?"  asked  Goldstein  sharply.    "You're 
too  near  the  retreat  to  be  let  pass  without  a  challenge.     Be- 
sides " — with  a  laugh,  following  long  scrutiny — "  you've  the 
look,  somehow,  of  one  of  those  cursed  Jacobites." 
"  You  flatter  me,  sir,"  said  Sir  Jasper  coolly.     "  It  has  been 


244  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

my  business  in  life  to  feel  like  one — and,  by  your  leave,  it  is 
pleasant  that  you  know  my  breed  at  sight." 

The  sleet  was  drifting  in  quiet  flakes  before  a  wind  that 
was  tired  for  a  while  of  its  own  speed.  From  the  western 
spur  of  moor  a  long,  slanting  gleam  of  sunlight  lit  up  this 
bleak  land's  loneliness — lit  up  Sir  Jasper's  figure  as  he  sat, 
unconcerned,  disdainful,  in  the  saddle  of  a  restive  horse. 
For  a  moment  the  dragoons  drew  back;  they  had  lived  in  a 
world  where  each  fought  for  his  own  advancement  only,  and 
they  were  perplexed  by  this  spectacle  of  a  man  who,  alone  and 
far  behind  retreating  comrades,  made  open  confession  of  his 
faith. 

Goldstein  swore  roundly — not  as  the  gently-born  do  in 
times  of  stress,  but  like  a  ploughboy  when  his  team  refuses 
to  obey  him.  "  Are  you  a  fool,  sir  ?  "  he  sputtered. 

"  Well,  yes,"  Sir  Jasper  answered  gravely.  "  As  much  as 
my  fellows.  I'm  human,  sir,  as  you  are." 

The  troopers  laughed,  and  Goldstein  felt  his  hold  on  them 
grow  ever  a  little  and  a  little  less.  "  You're  one  of  the  Pre- 
tender's men?"  he  snarled.  "We  shoot  all  vermin  of  that 
sort  at  sight." 

"  No,  sir.  I  am  attached  to  the  army  of  Prince  Charles 
Edward.  No  man  is  a  pretender  when  he  asks  only  for  his 
own  again." 

"  Then  you're  tired  of  life?"  said  Goldstein,  trying  clumsily 
to  catch  something  of  Sir  Jasper's  easy  handling  of  the  situ- 
ation. 

"  Again  you  are  in  the  wrong.  I  never  guessed,  till  now, 
how  good  life  is.  I  have  been  riding  with  one  stronger  and 
better  than  myself — and  after  that  I  ride,  when  you  are  tired 
of  questioning  me,  to  the  wife  and  the  home  I  love.  It  is 
all  so  simple,  if  you  would  believe  me." 

Sir  Jasper,  under  all  his  honesty  of  speech,  was  aware  that 
he  was  delaying  the  advance  of  these  rough-riders  along  the 
Langton  road,  was  helping  the  Prince  to  safety  while  he  rode 
so  perilously  behind  his  army.  He  was  aware,  too,  in  some 


THE  GALLOP  245 

random  way,  as  he  listened  to  Goldstein's  queer,  guttural 
English,  that  he  had  been  exact  when  he  told  Lady  Royd,  over 
and  over  again,  that  it  was  no  civil  war  the  Rising  men  had 
stirred  up,  but  simply  the  resistance  of  the  English  to  the 
foreign  invader;  a  resistance  old  and  stalwart  as  that  of 
Hereward  the  Wake ;  a  resistance  that  would  last  the  English 
till  they  triumphed  or  they  died. 

Goldstein,  his  muddied  wits  stirred,  may  be,  by  some  vision 
borrowed  from  Sir  Jasper,  knew  his  man  at  last.  "  It  was 
you  who  rode  with  the  Pretender,  when  we  went  near  to  cap- 
ture you  after  Derby  ?  " 

"  I  was  with  the  Prince,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  with  a  smile  that 
bewildered  Goldstein  and  his  troopers ;  "  but,  sir,  you  did  not 
come  near  to  capturing  us.  You  were  too — too  clumsy,  shall 
I  say?" 

Goldstein's  troopers  liked  the  free,  courageous  bearing  of 
the  man,  and  he  knew  it.  "  Well,  we're  here,"  he  said  dourly. 
"  You  admit  little,  but  your  life — it's  not  worth  a  poor  man's 
purchase,  surely  ?  " 

Sir  Jasper  took  a  look  at  the  hills,  as  moor-bred  men  will 
do  at  these  times.  "  It  was  worth  a  poor  Man's  purchase 
once — near  two  thousand  years  ago,"  he  said,  with  the  bear- 
ing of  a  man  and  the  simplicity  of  a  child  who  does  not  fear 
or  doubt. 

Goldstein  had  gone  through  many  a  rugged  fight,  over- 
seas in  Flanders ;  but  the  way  of  this  man's  courage  was  un- 
familiar, and  it  daunted  him. 

"There  are  one-and-twenty  of  us,"  he  said  irresolutely, 
"and  you're  alone.  You'll  not  fight  single-handed?" 

"No,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  handling  his  snuff-box  lazily  and 
giving  no  outward  sign  that  he  had  crossed  himself.  "  No, 
in  any  case  I  shall  not  fight  single-handed.  Have  you  any 
further  questions  to  ask,  sir?  The  sun  is  getting  down,  and 
I've  a  ride  before  me." 

To  Goldstein  this  man's  calm  was  insolence,  and  he  knew 
that  he  was  losing  ground  constantly  with  the  men  behind 


246  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

him.  "  Yes,  I've  a  question  or  two  to  ask,"  he  snapped. 
"  You  can  buy  your  life  by  a  straight  answer." 

"  But  the  price  may  be  too  heavy,"  protested  Sir  Jasper. 

"  You  were  with  the  Pretender  soon  after  Derby,  on  your 
own  confession." 

"  With  Prince  Charles  Edward,  by  your  leave,"  the  other 
corrected,  with  the  same  pleasant  smoothness. 

"  Oh,  curse  you !  what  do  titles  matter  ?  The  pretty  boy 
with  the  love-locks — you  were  with  him,  that  day  we  nearly 
took  you  both." 

"  I  was  with  him,  and  it  was  a  privilege.  Believe  me,  sir, 
I  have  some  miles  to  go,  and  dusk  is  coming  on.  Can  I 
answer  any  other  doubts  you  have — of  my  honesty,  shall  I 
say?" 

Sir  Jasper  had  glanced  round,  had  seen  a  sheer  wall  of  rock, 
twenty  paces  behind  him,  from  which  some  farmer  long  ago 
had  quarried  the  stones  for  his  homestead  on  the  moor  above. 
He  had  chosen  his  vantage-ground;  and  still,  through  all  this 
talk  that  gained  a  few  moments  by  the  way,  he  had  only  the 
one,  simple-minded  plan — to  get  his  back  to  the  wall,  and  fight 
single-handed  till  he  dropped,  and  give  his  life  to  earn  for 
his  Prince  a  few  more  precious  moments.  He  edged  his 
horse  backward  gently — pretending  that  it  was  fidgeting  on 
the  curb — and  drew  near  the  quarry-face.  He  thought  of 
Windyhough,  of  his  wife  and  Rupert,  of  the  free,  hard-riding 
days  behind;  and  then  he  thought  no  more  of  these  things, 
but  only  of  the  narrow  track  of  loyalty.  It  was  so  that  the 
Lancashire  gentry — the  strong  men  among  them — had  trained 
themselves  to  live  for  the  Stuart  cause.  And,  as  a  man  lives, 
so  he  finds  himself  prepared  to  die. 

"  You're  the  Prince's  watch-dog,"  said  Goldstein. 

"  May  be.     I  wish  he  had  a  better." 

"  He's  somewhere  near  then." 

"  That  is  vastly  probable,  sir."  Sir  Jasper  glanced  at  the 
hills  again,  as  if  seeking  counsel.  These  men  had  followed 
the  retreat  persistently.  If  he  denied  all  knowledge  of  the 


THE  GALLOP  247 

Prince's  whereabouts,  they  would  spur  forward  up  the  main 
road,  would  come  in  sight  of  that  desolate,  square-shouldered 
figure  who  stood,  in  his  own  person,  for  the  strength,  the 
gallantry,  the  hoping  against  odds,  of  this  disastrous  'Forty- 
Five. 

He  sat  in  saddle,  looking  from  the  hills  to  the  faces  of 
these  one-and-twenty  troopers.  He  needed  a  ready  tongue, 
and  was  more  accustomed  to  straightforward  action  than  to 
play  of  stratagem.  He  must  keep  these  rascals  dallying  for 
as  long  as  might  be,  must  afterwards  lengthen  the  fight  to  the 
last  edge  of  his  strength.  He  had  a  single  purpose,  and  his 
hold  on  it  was  firm — to  keep  pursuit  at  bay  until  the  Prince 
rode  nearer  to  Langton  and  the  night's  bivouac  than  he  did 
just  now. 

And  as  he  tried  to  find  words  to  relieve  the  burdensome, 
tense  silence,  Captain  Goldstein  blundered  into  one  of  those 
seeming  inspirations  that  lead  callous  folk  into  the  marshes, 
as  moorland  will-o'-wispies  do.  "  The  Pretender  is  afraid 
of  the  thirty  thousand  pounds  on  his  head,"  he  said,  turning 
to  the  men  behind  him.  "  The  watch-dog  is  waiting  here  at 
the  turning  that  leads  to  his  own  home;  the  Pretender  is  out 
of  sight;  the  plot  is  all  so  childish.  Our  road  lies  this  way, 
and  you,  sir,  will  show  it  to  us.  The  Pretender,  I  take  it,  is 
your  guest  to-night — if  we  don't  catch  him  first?  You  will 
lead  us,  sir,  I  say." 

Sir  Jasper,  his  back  to  the  quarry-wall  now,  could  not 
grasp  at  once  the  help  this  captain  of  rough-riders  was  giving 
him.  His  mind  was  set  on  the  simple  business  of  gaining 
time  by  a  fight  to  the  death,  and  his  hand  was  on  his  sword- 
hilt.  "  I  never  led  a  rabble  yet,"  he  said,  with  easy  conde- 
scension, "  and  I  am  too  old  to  learn  new  exercises." 

Goldstein  was  in  the  company  of  a  gentleman ;  and.  know- 
ing it,  he  winced.  But  he  kept  his  temper;  for  his  view  of 
life  was  bounded  by  advancement,  and  he  wished  to  make  all 
sure  in  this  big  affair  of  capturing  the  Prince,  dead  or  alive. 

"  You  do  not  deny  that  the  Pretender  is  making  for  your 


248  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

own  house?"  he  asked,  with  a  sharp  glance.  "You're 
shepherding  him  along  this  bridle-track  ?  " 

"  I  would  God  that  his  Highness  might  lie  safe  at  my  own 
house  of  Windyhough  to-night."  Even  now  Sir  Jasper 
found  it  hard  to  lie  outright,  though  he  realised  suddenly 
that  there  was  a  better  way  of  service  than  death  at  the 
quarry-face. 

As  it  chanced,  however,  his  words  suggested  evasion  to 
Goldstein — evasion,  and  a  manifest  desire  to  cloak  his  errand. 
"  You'll  not  show  us  the  way,  then  ?  You're  bent  on  being 
riddled  through  with  bullets?  Your  sword's  out — but  it  can 
whistle  as  it  will.  You  shall  answer  it  with  musketry." 

It  was  like  Sir  Jasper  that  he  had  forgotten  their  firearms 
when  he  drew  his  sword.  Long  companionship  with  those 
of  his  own  breed  had  led  him  to  expect,  instinctively,  that  a 
score  men,  coming  up  against  one,  would  at  least  meet  him 
with  his  own  weapon.  He  laughed  at  his  own  simplicity — 
laughed  the  more  quietly  because  now  it  was  of  no  conse- 
quence either  way.  His  view  of  the  Prince's  safety  grew 
broader  every  moment.  It  was  not  enough  that  he  should 
head  off  pursuit  from  him  until  he  had  reached  safety  in  to- 
night's camp  at  Langton.  This  company  of  horse  had  fol- 
lowed the  retreat  so  diligently  that  to-morrow  there  would  be 
danger  to  Stuart's  person,  and  the  next  day  after,  and  every 
day  that  found  him  riding  at  the  rear  of  his  sad  Highlanders. 
The  plain  way  of  service,  as  Sir  Jasper  saw  it  now,  was  to 
take  these  nondescript  cavalry  across  country,  wide  between 
the  Lancashire  hills,  and  so  give  the  Prince  a  longer  respite 
from  pursuit. 

"  Am  I  privileged  to  change  my  mind  ?  "  he  asked,  putting 
his  sword  in  sheath  again. 

"Allowed  to  save  your  skin?"  said  Goldstein,  the  bully  in 
him  quick  to  take  advantage  of  any  show  of  weakness  in  an 
adversary.  "  As  for  your  mind — you  may  change  it  once, 
my  friend,  but  not  twice." 

"  I  pledge  my  honour  that  I  will  lead  you  to  Windyhough." 


THE  GALLOP  249 

"Oh,  your  honour!  That  will  be  safe  enough.  You 
will  lead,  and  my  men  carry  their  muskets  loaded;  and 
if  anything  goes  wrong  between  this  and  Windyhough — 
you'll  die  for  the  Stuart,  sir,"  he  finished,  with  a  savage 
grin. 

"  I  make  one  condition  only,"  went  on  the  other  suavely — 
"  that  I  ride  at  my  own  pace." 

"How  far  is  Windyhough  from  here?"  asked  Goldstein, 
with  suspicion. 

"  Ten  miles." 

"  Then  ride  at  any  pace  you  like.  If  we  crawl,  we  shall  be 
there  before  the  Pretender  has  well  got  through  with  supper, 
and  our  horses  are  none  too  fresh,  I  own." 

Sir  Jasper  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  rode  out  in  silence 
from  the  quarry-face.  He  was  easily  master  in  this  enter- 
prise, and  wondered  that  the  gross  body  of  the  man  could  dull 
Goldstein's  reason  so  completely. 

"  You  will  want  to  share  the  thirty  thousand  pounds  with 
us  ?  "  said  Goldstein,  feeling  now  that  his  men  were  with  him, 
answering  to  his  brutal  jests.  "  You've  saved  your  skin,  sir, 
and  your  house  of  Windyhough;  and  you  need  a  little  ready 
money  in  your  pocket.  Well,  we  shall  see." 

Sir  Jasper  was  suddenly  ashamed  of  what  these  men  were 
thinking  of  him.  Sensitive,  alert,  he  gauged  the  meaning  of 
Goldstein's  insolence,  of  the  troopers'  careless  laughter.  They 
fancied  this  was  the  stuff  the  Prince's  gentlemen  were  made 
of — to  talk  loftily  one  moment,  and  the  next  to  play  the  trai- 
tor and  the  coward.  They  believed,  these  shock-headed  ras- 
cals gathered  from  the  foreign  kennels,  that  a  gentleman  of 
Lancashire  could  rate  his  own  life  dearer  than  the  Stuart's, 
could  afterwards  accept  blood-money.  And  then,  because  he 
knew  himself,  Sir  Jasper  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  if  to  rid 
them  of  an  evil  burden. 

"  We  ride  forward,"  he  said,  moving  from  the  quarry-face 
and  trotting  to  the  head  of  the  company. 

"  That  is  so,"  said  Goldstein,  with  rough  banter ;  "  and  re- 


250  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

member,    sir,    that    your    honour — your    Stuart    honour — is 
guarded  by  one-and-twenty  muskets,  ready  primed." 

Again  the  troopers  laughed ;  and  again  Sir  Jasper's  instinct 
was  to  vindicate  himself.  Then  he  remembered  the  dogged 
patience  of  another  who  rode — in  safety,  so  far — at  the  rear- 
guard of  his  army.  And  he  disdained  the  ill-favoured  mob 
behind  him. 

They  went  up  and  down  the  bridle-track  that  threaded  this 
white  land  of  hills  and  cold  austerity.  It  was  a  track  whose 
every  turning  was  a  landmark  to  Sir  Jasper,  reminding  him 
of  other  days.  He  had  ridden  it  when  he  went  hunting — 
when  he  went  south  to  the  wooing;  when,  afterwards,  he 
needed  respite  from  the  lap-dog  follies  of  his  wife,  from  the 
knowledge  that  his  heir  was  never  likely,  in  this  world,  at 
least,  to  prove  himself  a  man  of  action.  This  lane  was  thick 
with  memories  for  him;  but  never,  until  now,  had  he  ridden 
it  a  fugitive. 

He  thought  of  Derby  and  the  sick  retreat.  He  thought  of 
many  might-have-beens,  and  because  the  pain  of  it  was  so 
sharp  and  urgent  he  gathered  up  his  courage.  He  held  the 
Faith ;  he  was  strong  and  stubborn ;  and  out  of  this  windy  ride 
to  his  own  home  he  plucked  new  resolution. 

They  came — he  and  Goldstein's  men — to  Lone  Man's  Cross, 
a  wayside  monument  that  marked  the  spot  where  a  travelling 
pedlar  had  been  murdered  long  ago.  And  as  he  passed  it 
Sir  Jasper  recalled  how,  as  a  boy,  he  had  been  afraid  to  ride 
by  the  spot  at  dusk.  They  came  to  the  little  kirk  of  St. 
Michael's  on  the  Hill,  and  passed  it  wide  on  the  left  hand, 
and  went  down  by  way  of  Fairy-Kist  Hollow,  where  the  leaf- 
less rowans  were  gowned  in  frosted  sleet.  From  time  to  time 
some  ribald  jest  would  come  to  him  from  one  or  other  of  the 
troopers ;  but  he  did  not  heed.  One  half  of  him  was  think- 
ing of  the  memories  this  bridle-track  held  for  him,  of  the 
hopes  and  fears  and  gallant  dreams  that  had  kept  him  com- 
pany along  it  in  the  years  gone  by;  the  other  half — the 
shrewd-witted,  practical  half — was  content  to  know  that  each 


THE  GALLOP  251 

mile  they  traversed  was  leading  danger  farther  from  the 
Prince,  that  each  step  of  the  rough,  up-and-down  track  was 
telling  on  horses  that  were  too  southern  in  the  build  for  this 
cross-country  work.  His  own  mare  was  lithe  and  easy  un- 
der him,  for  she  was  hill-bred. 

They  rode  forward  slowly  through  a  land  that  turned  con- 
stantly a  cold  and  sleety  shoulder  to  them  at  every  bend  of 
the  way.  And  they  came  to  the  Brig  o'  Tryst — a  small  and 
graceful  bridge — to  which,  so  country  superstition  said,  the 
souls  truly  mated  came  at  last. 

"  You  live  in  a  cursed  climate,  Sir  Jasper,"  said  Goldstein 
gruffly ;  "  and  gad !  Your  roads  match  it." 

Sir  Jasper  was  alert  again.  Some  quality  in  Goldstein's 
voice  roused  in  him  a  loathing  healthy  and  inspiriting. 
Dreams  went  by  him.  He  took  hold  of  this  day's  realities, 
saw  the  strip  of  level  going  ahead,  remembered  that  he  was  a 
short  five  miles  now  from  Windyhough,  with  a  game  mare  un- 
der him.  There  would  be  time  to  get  into  his  own  house,  to 
barricade  the  doors ;  and  afterwards  there  would  be  the  swift, 
hard  battle  he  had  hungered  for  at  Derby. 

He  put  spurs  to  his  mare,  and  she  answered  blithely.  And 
Goldstein  understood  on  the  sudden  what  this  gentleman  of 
Lancashire  had  meant  when  he  passed  his  word  to  lead  them, 
at  his  own  pace,  to  Windyhough. 

"Halt!     Fire!"  he  roared.    "Are  you  daft,  you  fools?" 

His  men  recovered  from  a  surprise  equal  to  his  own.  The 
light  was  wan  and  sleety,  with  mist  coming  down  from  the 
hills;  but  the  fugitive  was  well  in  sight  still  as  they  brought 
their  muskets  to  the  shoulders.  A  sharp  volley  rang  out  be- 
tween the  silent  hills,  as  if  every  trooper  had  pulled  his  trig- 
ger in  instant  answer  to  command.  It  seemed  that  one  here 
and  there  of  the  shots  would  tell ;  but  Sir  Jasper  went  gallop- 
ping  over  the  level,  and  dipped  down  the  further  rise,  and  their 
horses  would  not  answer  when  they  tried  to  gallop  in 
pursuit. 

"So  that  is  all  the  wars  in  Flanders  taught  you?"  said 


252  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

Goldstein  savagely.  "You  should  have  brought  your  wives 
to  shoot  for  you." 

A  low  growl  went  up.  These  men  were  tired  of  Gold- 
stein's leadership,  tired  of  the  hardship  and  bad  weather. 
And  their  leader  knew  the  meaning  of  that  growl. 

"  Keep  your  cursed  tempers,"  he  said,  with  what  to  him 
was  suavity.  "  There's  the  Pretender  at  the  end  of  this  day's 
journey — and  a  price  on  his  head." 

At  Windyhough,  Rupert  and  his  mother  sat  in  the  parlour, 
with  its  faded  scents  and  tapestries.  They  waited  for  great 
happenings  that  did  not  come  their  way;  and  they  were  sick 
at  heart.  Rupert  was  hungry  for  news  of  the  father  who  was 
braver  and  stronger  than  he — the  father  whom  he  missed  at 
every  turn  of  the  day's  road.  He  had  done  his  round  of  the 
house  with  Simon  Foster;  and  Nance,  who  cheered  his  out- 
look for  him  whenever  she  came  in  sight,  was  absent  on  some 
wild  hill-scamper,  shared  by  the  broken-winded  horse  who  had 
grown  close  comrade  to  her. 

Lady  Royd,  with  the  new-found  motherhood  that  made  her 
comelier,  guessed  what  was  passing  in  the  boy's  mind;  and 
she  fussed  about  him,  when  he  was  asking  only  for  free  air 
and  the  chance  to  fight  like  other  men.  And  Rupert  thought, 
with  a  shame  that  deadened  all  his  outlook,  of  the  years  when 
he  had  stood,  scholarly,  ironical,  apart  from  the  blood  and 
tears  that  meet  wayfarers  who  take  the  open  road.  He  saw  it 
all,  to-night  when  the  peevish  wind  was  beating  through  the 
draughty  house — saw  the  weakness  that  had  divided  him 
from  the  open-air,  good  fellows  who  liked  and  pitied  him. 

"  There's  powder  and  shot  stored  here,  and  I  know  how  to 
use  them,"  he  said,  with  light  contempt  of  himself.  "  And 
yet  nothing  happens,  mother.  It  is  as  Simon  Foster  says — 
'  we're  needing  storms  and  earthquakes,  just  to  make  to-day 
a  little  different,  like,  fro'  yesterday.' " 

"  Oh,  your  chance  will  come,"  said  Lady  Royd,  with  the 
pitiful  feigning  of  belief  that  she  thought  was  faith.  "  Your 
father  taught  you,  just  before  he  went,  how  to  direct  a  siege. 


THE  GALLOP  253 

You  remember  that  he  taught  you  ? "  she  insisted.  "  He 
trusted  you  to  hold  Windyhough  for  the  Prince." 

Rupert  laughed — a  sudden,  dreary  laugh  that  startled  her. 
"  He  taught  me  well.  I've  not  forgotten  the  lesson,  mother. 
But  he  knew  there  would  be  no  siege.  I  heard  him  tell 
you  so." 

There  was  no  sharp  riding-in  of  enemies.  The  night  was 
still,  and  empty,  and  at  peace.  Yet  Lady  Royd  was  plunged 
deep,  by  her  own  son,  into  tragedy  and  battle.  She  remem- 
bered the  night  of  Sir  Jasper's  departure — the  talk  they  had 
had  in  hall — her  husband's  weary  confession  that  he  had  lied 
to  Rupert,  telling  him  a  fairy-tale  of  the  coming  attack  on 
Windyhough. 

Rupert  had  overheard  them,  it  seemed;  and  through  all 
these  days  of  strain  and  waiting  he  had  not  spoken  of  his 
trouble,  had  let  it  eat  inward  like  a  fire.  As  if  in  punish- 
ment for  the  indifference  of  earlier  years,  Lady  Royd's  per- 
ception of  all  that  touched  her  son  was  clear  to  the  least  de- 
tail now.  With  her  new  gift  of  motherhood,  of  courting  pain 
for  its  own  sake,  she  retraced,  step  by  step,  the  meaning  of 
these  last  few  days  to  Rupert.  He  had  grown  used  to  the 
sense  that  he  stood  apart  from  stronger  men,  unable  to  share 
full  life  with  them;  but  always,  behind  it  all,  he  had  been 
sure,  until  a  little  while  ago,  that  his  father  trusted  him  to 
prove  his  manhood  one  day. 

She  went  to  him,  and  put  her  arms  about  him,  as  any  cot- 
tage mother  might  have  done.  "  Oh,  my  boy— my  boy !  "  she 
cried,  understanding  the  fierceness,  the  loneliness,  of  this  last 
trouble. 

In  this  mood  of  his,  with  his  back  to  the  wall  which  no 
man  asked  him  to  defend,  Rupert  could  have  withstood  many 
dangers;  but  sympathy  exasperated  him. 

"It  is  hard  for  my  father,"  he  said,  with  desperate  sim- 
plicity. "There  was  never  a  weak  link  in  the  Royd  chain 
till  I  was  born  the  heir.  Why  did  I  come  to— to  bring  him 
shame  ?  " 


254  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

Some  ruggedness,  borrowed  from  the  land  that  was  hers 
by  marriage,  bade  Lady  Royd  stand  straight  and  take  her 
punishment. 

"  I  will  tell  you  why,"  she  said,  her  voice  passionate  and 
low ;  "  I  hindered  you  before  your  birth.  I  went  riding  when 
your  father  bade  me  rest  at  home — and  my  horse  fell " 

"  Just  as  mine  did  when  I  went  to  join  the  Rising,"  said 
Rupert,  following  his  own  train  of  thought.  "  Mother,  I 
should  have  been  with  the  Prince's  army  now  if — if  my  horse 
had  not  stumbled." 

Lady  Royd  crossed  to  the  mantel,  leaned  her  head  awhile 
on  the  cool  oak  of  it.  "Yes,"  she  said,  turning  sharply. 
"  Yes,  Rupert.  It  has  taken  five-and-twenty  years — but  I'm 
answering  for  that  ride  of  mine." 

He  looked  at  her  in  wonder.  And  suddenly  he  realised 
that  this  beautiful,  tired  mother  of  his  was  needing  help.  She 
had  not  guessed  what  strength  there  was  in  her  son's  arms 
until  he  drew  her  close  to  him. 

"  What  ails  us,  mother  ?  "  he  asked,  with  surprising  tender- 
ness. "  We've  Windyhough,  and  powder  and  ball,  and  Lan- 
cashire may  need  us  yet." 

Hope  took  her  unawares.  This  boy  was  transformed  into 
a  man  of  action ;  for  only  active  men  can  glance  from  their 
own  troubles  to  understand  the  weakness  that  is  planted,  like 
lavender,  in  the  heart  of  every  woman. 

"  I  would  God  it  needed  us,"  she  said,  with  a  touch  of  her 
old  petulance.  "Lancashire  men  can  sing  leal  songs 
enough " 

"  Can  live  them,  too.    The  hills  have  cradled  us." 

Lady  Royd  smiled,  as  if  her  heart  were  playing  round  her 
lips.  "  You're  no  fool,  son  of  mine,"  she  said.  "  I  wish  the 
Retreat  were  sweeping  straight  to  Windyhough,  instead  of 
leaving  us  in  peace.  I  wish  you  could  be  proved." 

Rupert  glanced  shyly  at  her.  He  was  son  and  lover  both, 
diffident,  eager,  chivalrous.  "  Suppose  there's  no  attack  on 
the  house,  mother — suppose  I  were  never  proved?  I  have 


THE  GALLOP  255 

learned  so  much  to-night — so  much.  Surely  there's  some- 
thing gained." 

It  was  a  moment  of  simple,  intimate  knowledge,  each  of  the 
other.  And  the  mother's  face  was  flower-like,  dainty;  the 
spoilt  wife's  wrinkles  were  altogether  gone. 

"  It  is  my  turn  to  ask  why,"  she  said,  with  a  coquetry  that 
was  rainy  as  an  April  breeze.  "  I've  not  deserved  well  of 
you,  my  dear — not  deserved  well  at  all,  and  have  told  you 
so;  and  you  choose  just  this  time — to  honour  me.  Men  are 
perplexing,  Rupert.  One  never  knows  their  moods." 

Her  toy  spaniel  began  barking  from  somewhere  at  the  far 
end  of  the  house;  and  the  old  inconsequence  returned  from 
habit. 

"  Oh,  there's  poor  Fido  crying ! "  she  said  eagerly.  "  Go 
find  him,  Rupert.  The  poor  little  man  is  so  sensitive — you 
know  he's  almost  human,  and  he  is  crying  for  me." 

And  Rupert  went  out  on  the  old,  foolish  quest — willingly 
enough  this  time.  He  had  seen  beneath  the  foolish,  pam- 
pered surface  of  his  mother's  character,  and  was  content  to 
hold  secure  this  newborn  love  for  her,  this  knowledge  that  she 
needed  him.  He  was  needed — at  long  last. 

"  You  look  gay,  master,"  said  Simon  Foster,  meeting  him 
down  the  corridor.  "  Well,  it's  each  man  to  his  taste ;  but  I 
shouldn't  have  said,  like,  there  was  much  to  hearten  a  man 
these  days." 

"  You've  not  sought  in  the  right  place,"  laughed  the  master. 

And  then  Simon  grinned,  foolishly  and  pleasantly.  For  he 
remembered  how  he  had  helped  Martha  the  dairymaid  to  milk 
the  cows  not  long  ago.  "  I'm  not  complaining,"  he  said, 
guardedly. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   RIDING   IN 

SIR  JASPER,  sure  of  his  mare,  had  ridden  hard  toward  Windy- 
hough.  He  had  promised,  in  good  faith,  that  he  would  lead 
Captain  Goldstein  on  the  road,  but  he  had  not  passed  his 
word  that  he  would  ride  at  the  pace  of  heavy  cavalry.  He 
heard  the  bullets  singing,  right  and  left  and  overhead,  after 
Goldstein's  call  to  fire ;  but  the  lean,  hill-bred  mare  was  going 
swiftly  under  him,  and  it  was  only  five  miles  home  to  Windy- 
hough.  There  had  been  a  sharp  pain  in  his  left  shoulder,  a 
stab  as  if  a  red-hot  rapier  had  pierced  him,  in  the  midst  of  the 
crackling  musket-din  behind  him;  but  that  was  forgotten. 

The  mare  galloped  forward  gamely.  She  was  untouched, 
save  for  a  bullet  that  had  grazed  her  flank  and  quickened  her 
temper  to  good  purpose.  Sir  Jasper's  spirits  rose,  as  the  re- 
membered landmarks  swept  past  him  on  the  wind.  His 
mind,  his  vision,  his  grip  on  forward  hope,  were  singularly 
clear  and  strong.  This  was  his  holiday,  after  the  sickness  of 
retreat. 

He  had  gained  a  mile  by  now.  His  pursuers,  riding  jaded 
horses,  were  out  of  sight  and  hearing  behind  the  hump  of 
Haggart  Rise.  He  remembered,  once  again,  the  Prince's  fig- 
ure, riding  solitary  on  the  Langton  road ;  and  he  was  glad 
that  these  one-and-twenty  louts  were  being  led  wide  of  their 
real  quarry.  And  then  he  forgot  the  Stuarts,  and  recalled 
his  wife's  face,  the  tenderness  he  had  for  her,  the  peril  he 
was  bringing  north  to  Windyhough.  Behind  him  was  Cap- 
tain Goldstein,  of  unknown  ancestry  and  doubtful  morals,  and 
with  him  a  crowd  of  raffish  foreigners,  who  would  follow  any 
cause  that  promised  licence  and  good  pay. 

Sir  Jasper  saw  the  danger  plainly.     He  was  thinking,  not 

956 


THE  RIDING  IN  257 

of  the  Prince's  honour  now,  but  of  his  wife's.  He  knew  that 
he  must  win  to  Windyhough.  And  still  his  spirits  rose;  for 
this  was  danger,  undisguised  and  facing,  him  across  the  sleety, 
rugged  hills  he  loved.  Windyhough  had  stout  walls,'  and 
powder  and  ball,  and  loopholes  facing  to  the  four  points  of 
the  compass ;  Simon  Foster  would  be  there,  and  Rupert  could 
pull  a  trigger ;  it  would  be  in  the  power  of  this  little  garrison 
to  hold  the  house,  to  pick  off,  one  by  one,  this  company  of 
Goldstein's  until  the  rest  took  panic  and  left  it  to  its  lone- 
liness. 

It  was  a  hazard  to  his  liking,  and  Sir  Jasper's  face  was 
keen  and  ruddy  as  he  clattered  down  and  up  the  winding 
track.  He  was  a  short  mile  now  from  Windyhough,  and  he 
eased  his  mare  because  she  showed  signs  of  trouble. 

"  We've  time  and  to  spare,  lass,"  he  muttered,  patting  her 
neck.  "  No  need  to  kill  you  for  the  Cause." 

And  then — from  the  midst  of  his  eagerness  and  hope — a 
sickness  crept  over  the  horseman's  eyes.  His  left  shoulder 
was  on  fire,  it  seemed;  and,  glancing  down,  he  saw  dimly 
that  his  riding-coat  was  splashed  with  crimson.  The  mare, 
feeling  no  command  go  out  across  the  reins,  yielded  to  her 
own  weariness,  and  halted  suddenly.  Sir  Jasper  tried  to  urge 
her  forward;  but  his  hand  was  weak  on  the  bridle,  and  the 
grassy  track,  the  hills,  the  flakes  of  sleet,  were  phantoms  mov- 
ing through  a  nightmare  prison. 

He  had  come  to  the  gate  of  Intake  Farm,  and  the  farmer 
—Ben  Shackleton  by  name— was  striding  up  the  road  to 
gather  in  some  ewes  from  the  higher  lands  before  the  snow 
began  to  drift  in  earnest. 

"Lord  love  you,  sir!"  he  said  nonchalantly,  catching  Sir 
Jasper  as  he  slid  helplessly  from  saddle.  "Lord  love  you, 
sir,  you're  bleeding  like  a  pig ! " 

"It's  nothing,  Ben."  Even  now  Sir  Jasper  kept  his  spa- 
cious contempt  of  pain,  his  instinct  to  hide  a  wound  as  if  it 
were  a  crime.  "  Help  me  to  horse  again.  My  wife  needs 
me — needs  me,  Ben." 


258  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

Then  he  yielded  to  sheer  sickness  for  a  moment;  and  Ben 
Shackleton,  who  was  used  to  helping  lame  cattle,  grew  brisk 
and  businesslike.  "  Here,  William ! "  he  called  to  a  shepherd 
who  was  slouching  in  the  mistal-yard.  "  Come  lend  a  hand, 
thou  idle-bones!  Here's  master  ta'en  a  hurt,  and  he's  a 
bulkier  man  than  me.  We've  got  to  help  him  indoors  to  the 
lang-settle." 

Sir  Jasper,  by  grace  of  long  training,  was  able  to  keep  his 
weakness  off  for  a  space  of  time  that  seemed  to  him  inter- 
minable. He  saw  Windyhough  at  the  mercy  of  these  raga- 
bouts  of  Goldstein's — saw  his  wife  standing,  proud,  disdain- 
ful, pitiful,  while  they  bandied  jests  from  mouth  to  mouth. 

"It's  nothing,  Ben,  I  tell  you!"  he  muttered  testily. 
"  Help  me  to  saddle." 

He  staggered  forward,  tried  to  mount,  fell  back  again  into 
Ben's  arms.  And  still  he  would  not  yield.  And  then  at  last 
he  knew  that  Windyhough  would  not  see  him  to-day,  if  ever 
again ;  and  the  pity  he  had  for  his  wife,  left  defenceless  there 
by  his  own  doing,  was  like  a  knife  cutting  deep  and  ceaselessly 
into  his  living  flesh. 

He  was  in  torment,  so  that  his  wound,  save  that  it  ham- 
pered him,  seemed  a  trivial  matter.  To  Ben  Shackleton  and 
the  shepherd  all  passed  in  a  few  minutes;  they  did  not  guess 
how  long  the  interval  was  to  Sir  Jasper  between  this  going 
down  to  hell  and  the  first  ray  of  hope  that  crossed  the  black- 
ness. 

Sir  Jasper  passed  a  hand  across  his  eyes.  If  only  he  could 
understand  this  sudden  hope,  the  meaning  of  it — if  his  wits 
were  less  muddled — there  was  a  chance  yet  for  Windyhough. 
Then  he  remembered  Rupert — his  son,  to  whom  he  had  told 
a  fairy-tale  of  gunpowder  and  ball,  and  the  defence  of  the 
old  house — and  a  weight  seemed  lifted  from  him.  He  re- 
called how  he  had  said  to  the  boy's  mother  that  Rupert  was 
leal  and  stubborn  at  the  soul  of  him,  however  it  might  be  with 
his  capacity  for  every-day  affairs.  He  smiled,  so  that  Ben 
and  the  shepherd,  looking  on,  thought  that  he  was  fey;  for  he 


THE  RIDING  IN  259 

was  thinking  how  weak  in  body  he  himself  was,  how,  like 
Rupert,  he  had  only  his  leal  soul  to  depend  upon. 

Then,  for  the  last  time  before  he  surrendered  to  the  weak- 
ness that  was  gripping  him  in  earnest,  he  had  a  moment  of 
borrowed  vigour.  "  Ben,"  he  said,  in  the  old  tone  of  com- 
mand, "you've  your  horse  ready  saddled?" 

"  Aye,  sir ! "  answered  the  other,  bewildered  but  obedient. 

"  Ride  hard  for  Windyhough.  There's  a  troop  of  the 
enemy  close  behind.  Gallop,  Ben,  and  tell  my  son " — he 
steadied  himself,  with  a  hand  on  the  shepherd's  shoulder — 
"  tell  him  that  he  must  hold  the  house  until  I  come,  that  I 
trust  him,  that  he  knows  where  the  powder  is  stored.  Oh, 
you  fool,  you  stand  gaping!  And  there  is  urgency." 

"  I'm  loath  to  leave  you,  Sir  Jasper " 

"  You'll  be  less  loath,  Ben,"  broke  in  the  other,  with  a  fine 
rallying  to  his  shattered  strength,  "  if  I  bring  the  blunt  side  of 
my  sword  about  your  ears." 

So  Ben  Shackleton,  troubled  and  full  of  doubt,  got  to 
horse,  following  that  instinct  of  obedience  which  the  master 
had  learned  before  he  taught  it  to  his  men,  and  rode  up  the 
windy  track.  Sir  Jasper,  when  he  had  seen  him  top  the  rise 
and  disappear  in  the  yellow,  dreary  haze,  leaned  heavily 
against  the  shepherd. 

"  Now  for  the  lang-settle,  since  needs  must,"  he  said,  with 
a  last  bid  for  gaiety.  "  I  can  cross  the  mistal-yard,  I  think, 
with  a  little  help.  So,  shepherd!  It  heaves  like  a  ship  in 
storm ;  it  heaves,  I  tell  you ;  but  my  son  out  yonder — my  son 
at  Windyhough — oh,  the  dear  God  knows,  shepherd,  that  I 
taught  him — taught  him  how  to  die,  I  hope !  " 

They  crossed  the  mistal-yard,  blundering  as  they  went; 
and  somehow  the  shepherd  got  Sir  Jasper  into  the  cheery, 
firelit  house-place,  and  on  to  the  lang-settle.  Ben  Shackle- 
ton's  wife  was  baking  an  apple-pasty  when  they  came  in, 
and  glanced  up.  If  she  felt  surprise,  she  showed  none,  but 
wiped  the  flour  from  her  arms  with  her  apron,  and  crossed 
to  the  settle.  She  looked  at  Sir  Jasper  as  he  lay  in  a  white 


260  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

and  deathlike  swoon,  and  saw  the  blood  oozing  from  his 
wounded  shoulder. 

Shackleton's  wife  was  quick  of  tongue  and  quick  of  her 
hands.  "  Take  thy  girt  lad's  foolishness  out  o'  doors,  Wil- 
liam ! "  she  snapped.  "  I  know  how  to  dress  a  wound  by 
this  time,  or  should  do,  seeing  how  oft  Shackleton  lames  him- 
self by  using  farm-tools  carelessly.  Shackleton  has  a  gift 
that  way." 

The  shepherd  passed  out  into  the  windy,  cheerless  out-o'- 
doors.  He  knew  the  mistress  in  this  humour,  and  preferred 
a  chill  breeze  from  the  east.  As  he  crossed  the  mistal-yard 
he  saw  a  company  of  horsemen,  riding  jaded  nags ;  and  they 
were  grouped  about  Sir  Jasper's  mare,  that,  too  tired  to 
move,  was  whinnying  for  her  absent  master. 

"  Hi,  my  man !  "  said  Goldstein.    "  Whose  mare  is  this  ?  " 

"  Sir  Jasper  Royd's,"  the  shepherd  answered.  His  voice 
was  low  and  pleasant,  as  the  way  of  Lancashire  folk  is  when 
they  prepare  to  meet  a  bullying  intrusion. 

"Then  he's  here?" 

"  No,"  said  the  shepherd,  after  picking  a  straw  from  the 
yard  and  chewing  it  with  bucolic,  grave  simplicity.  "  No. 
Sir  Jasper  changed  horses  here,  and  rode  for  Windyhough." 

"  How  far  away  ?  " 

The  shepherd  thought  of  Sir  Jasper,  lying  yonder  on  the 
lang-settle.  He  was  touched,  in  some  queer  way,  by  the  mas- 
ter's gallantry  in  the  dark  hour  of  retreat.  He  was  so  moved 
that  he  was  brought,  against  his  will,  to  tell  a  lie  and  stick 
to  it 

"  Oh,  six  mile  or  so,  as  the  crow  flies — more  by  road,"  he 
said  nonchalantly.  "  Ye'd  best  be  getting  forrard,  if  ye  want 
to  win  there  by  nightfall." 

Goldstein  mistook  this  country  yokel's  simplicity  for  hon- 
est dullness.  Men  more  in  touch  with  the  Lancashire  char- 
acter had  done  as  much  before  his  time,  especially  when 
horse-dealing  was  in  progress  on  market  days.  "  You  look 
honest,  my  man,"  he  said,  stooping  to  slip  a  coin  into  Wil- 


THE  RIDING  IN  261 

Ham's  hand.     "  Tell  me  what  sort  of  road  it  is  from  here  to 
Windyhough." 

"  Well,  as  for  honest,"  said  the  other,  with  the  vacant  grin 
that  was  expected  of  him,  "  I  may  be  honest  as  my  neigh- 
bours, if  that  be  much  to  boast  of ;  and  it's  a  terrible  ill-found 
road,  for  sure.  Best  be  jogging  forrard,  I  tell  ye." 

"  It's  cursed  luck,  men,"  said  Goldstein,  spurring  his  horse 
into  the  semblance  of  a  trot;  "but  we're  hunting  big  game 
this  time.  A  mile  or  two  needn't  matter.  There's  the  Pre- 
tender at  Windyhough,  remember,  and  a  nice  bit  of  money  to 
be  earned." 

The  shepherd  watched  them  over  the  hilltop,  then  glanced 
at  the  piece  of  silver  lying  in  his  palm.  There  was  so  much 
he  might  do  with  this  money — might  buy  himself  a  mug  or 
two  of  ale  at  the  tavern  in  the  hollow,  just  by  way  of  chang- 
ing the  crown-piece  into  smaller  coin — and  he  was  "  feeling 
as  if  he  needed  warming  up,  like,  after  all  this  plaguy  wind." 

He  glanced  at  the  coin  again,  with  a  wistfulness  that  was 
almost  passionate.  Then  he  spat  on  it,  and  threw  it  into  the 
refuse  from  the  mistal  lying  close  behind. 

"  Nay,  I'll  have  honest  ale,  or  none,"  he  growled,  and 
crossed  quietly  to  the  house,  and  stood  on  the  threshold,  look- 
ing in. 

He  saw  Shackleton's  wife  bending  over  Sir  Jasper,  who 
lay  in  a  swoon  so  helpless  and  complete  that  it  was  like  a 
child's  sleep — a  sleep  tired  with  the  day's  endeavours,  yet 
tranquil  and  unfearful  for  the  morrow's  safety. 

"  Oh,  it  is  thee,  is't  ?  "  said  Shackleton's  wife,  facing  round. 
"  Well,  he's  doing  nicely — or  was,  till  ye  let  in  all  this  wind 
that's  fit  to  rouse  a  body  from  his  grave." 

"  Well-a-day,  mistress,"  said  the  shepherd,  with  a  pleasant 
grin,  "  if  that's  your  humour,  I'm  for  the  mistal-yard  again. 
It's  rare  and  quiet  out  there." 

"  Nay,  now,"  she  said,  glancing  up  with  sharp,  imperious 
kindliness.  "  Shut  t'  door,  lad,  and  sit  thee  down  by  th' 
peats,  and  keep  a  still  tongue  i'  thy  head.  I  wouldn't  turn 


262  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

a  dog  out  into  all  this  storm  that's  brewing  up.  And,  be- 
sides, Sir  Jasper's  mending.  I'd  doubts  of  him  at  first;  but 
he's  sleeping  like  a  babby  now.  We'll  keep  watch  together, 
till  Shackleton  comes  home  fro'  his  ride  to  Windyhough. 
He'll  not  be  long,  unless  the  maids  there  'tice  him  to  gossip 
and  strong  ale." 

"  I  might  smoke,  mistress — just,  like,  to  pass  the  time?" 
"  Aye,   smoke,"   snapped   Shackleton's   wife.    "  Men   were 
always  like  bairns,  needing  their  teething-rings,  in  one  shape 
or  another." 

"  Better  than  spoiling  their  tempers,"  said  the  shepherd. 
And  he  lit  his  pipe  from  a  live  peat,  and  said  no  more ;  for  he 
was  wise,  as  men  go. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   GLAD  DEFENCE 

AT  Windyhough  the  gale  sobbed  and  moaned  about  the  leaf- 
less trees  that  sheltered  it  from  the  high  moors.  Sleet  was 
driving  against  the  window-panes,  and  there  was  promise,  if 
the  wind  did  not  change,  of  heavy  snow  to  follow.  And  in- 
doors were  Lady  Royd  and  Nance,  the  women-servants,  and 
the  men  too  old  to  carry  arms  behind  Sir  Jasper — these,  and 
the  lean  scholar  who  was  heir  to  Windyhough. 

Simon  Foster — he  who  had  carried  a  pike  in  the  '15  Ris- 
ing, and  felt  himself  the  watch-dog  here — had  been  moving 
restlessly  up  and  down  all  day,  like  a  faithful  hound  whose 
scent  is  quick  for  trouble.  And  now,  near  three  of  the  aft- 
ernoon, he  was  going  the  round  of  the  defences  once  again 
with  the  young  master. 

"  You're  not  looking  just  as  gay  as  you  were  yesternight," 
he  growled,  snatching  a  glance  at  Rupert's  face.  "  Summat 
amiss  wi'  the  Faith  ye  hold  by,  master  ?  " 

Rupert  was  sick  with  bitter  trouble,  sick  with  inaction  and 
the  frustration  of  long  hopes;  yet  he  held  his  head  up  sud- 
denly and  smiled.  "  Nothing  amiss  with  that,"  he  answered 
cheerily.  "  I'm  too  weak  to  carry  it  at  times,  that  is  all, 
Simon." 

Simon  stroked  his  cheek  thoughtfully.  "Well,  it's  all 
moonshine  to  me — speaking  as  a  plain  man;  but  I've  noticed 
it  has  a  way  o'  carrying  folk  over  five-barred  gates  and  walls 
too  high  to  clamber.  For  my  part,  I'm  weary,  dead  weary; 
and  I  see  naught  before  us,  master,  save  a  heavy  snowstorm 
coming,  and  women  blanketing  us  wi'  whimsies,  and  a  sort  o' 
silent,  nothing-doing  time  that  maddens  a  body.  You've  the 
gift  o'  faith — just  tell  me  what  it  shows  you,  Maister  Rupert." 

263 


264  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

The  master  laughed.  It  tickled  his  humour  tfiat  fie,  who 
was  wading  deep  in  sickness  and  disillusion,  should  be  asked 
for  help  in  need  by  this  grizzled  elder,  who  had  loved  and 
pitied  him,  who  had  tried,  these  last  days,  to  teach  him  the 
right  handling  of  a  musket.  "Just  this,  Simon — square 
shoulders,  and  a  quick  eye,  and  the  day's  routine  ahead. 
What  else?" 

"  Then  faith  is  a  soldier's  game,  after  all." 

"Yes,  a  soldier's  game,"  Rupert  answered  dryly. 

And  so  they  went  forward  from  room  to  room,  from  loop- 
hole to  loophole,  that  cast  slant,  grey  eyes  on  the  sleet  that 
was  blowing  across  the  troubled  moonlight  out  of  doors. 
And,  at  the  end  of  the  round,  after  Simon  had  gone  down  to 
see  if  he  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  Martha  in  the  kitchen,  Ru- 
pert heard  the  sound  of  spinet  keys,  touched  lightly  from  be- 
low. And  then  he  heard  Nance  Demaine  singing  the  ballads 
that  were  dear  to  him,  and  a  sudden  hunger  came  upon  him. 

He  went  down  to  the  parlour,  stood  silent  in  the  doorway. 
Lady  Royd  was  upstairs,  putting  her  toy  spaniel  to  bed  with 
much  ceremony;  and  Nance  was  alone  with  the  candlelight 
and  the  faded  roseleaf  scents.  With  ache  of  heart,  with  a 
longing  strong  and  troublesome,  he  saw  the  trim  figure,  the 
orderly  brown  hair,  the  whole  fragrant  person  of  this  girl 
who  was  singing  loyal  ballads — this  girl  who  kept  his  feet 
steady  up  the  hills  of  endeavour,  and  of  longing  for  the  bat- 
tle that  did  not  come  his  way. 

And  the  mood  took  Nance  to  sing  a  ballad  of  the  last  Stu- 
art Rising,  thirty  years  ago,  when  all  was  lost  because  the 
leaders  of  the  enterprise  were  weaker  than  the  men  who  rode 
behind  them. 

"There's  a  lonely  tryst  to  keep,  wife, 

All  for  the  King's  good  health. 
God  knows,  when  we  two  bid  farewell 
I  give  him  all  my  wealth." 

It  was  the  song  of  a  cavalier,  written  to  his  wife  the  night 


THE  GLAD  DEFENCE  265 

before  he  went  to  execution  for  the  Stuart's  sake.  And  it 
had  lived,  this  ballad,  because  to  its  core  it  rang  true  to  the 
heart's  love  of  a  man.  And  Nance  was  singing  it  as  if  she 
understood  its  depth  and  meaning.  This  was  the  man's  love, 
royal,  simple,  courageous,  of  which  she  had  talked  to  Lady 
Royd  not  long  ago,  for  which  she  had  been  laughed  at  by 
the  older  woman.  Yet  one  man  at  least  had  found  grace  to 
carry  such  love  with  him  unblemished  to  the  scaffold.  The 
resignation,  the  willing  sacrifice  for  kingship's  sake  summed 
up  by  "  the  lonely  tryst  to  keep,"  as  if  this  were  a  little  mat- 
ter— the  human  note  of  loss  and  heartbreak  when  she  reached 
the  last  love  confession,  strong,  tender,  final  in  its  simplicity 
— Nance's  voice  found  breadth  and  compass  for  them  all,  as 
if  she  had  stood  by  this  cavalier  long  dead,  feeling  pulse  by 
pulse  with  him.  And  so,  in  a  sense,  she  had ;  for  these  royal- 
ists of  Lancashire  had  faults  and  weaknesses  in  plenty,  but 
they  had  been  strong  in  this — from  generation  to  generation 
they  had  reared  their  children  to  a  gospel  resolute  and  thor- 
ough as  the  words  of  this  old  ballad. 

Nance  lingered  on  those  last  words  as  if  they  haunted  her 
— "  I  give  him  all  my  wealth."  And  Rupert,  standing  in 
the  doorway,  was  aware  that,  even  to  his  eyes,  Nance  had 
never  shown  herself  so  tender  and  complete.  She  leaned 
over  the  spinet,  touching  a  key  idly  now  and  then;  and  her 
thoughts  were  of  Will  Underwood,  who  had  courage  of  a 
sort,  a  fine,  reckless  horsemanship  that  was  needed  by  the 
Rising ;  of  Wild  Will,  whose  whole,  big,  dashing  make-believe 
of  character  was  ruined  by  a  mean  calculation,  a  need  to  keep 
house-room  and  good  cheer  safe  about  him.  She  remem- 
bered her  trust  in  him,  their  meeting  on  the  moor,  the  sick, 
helpless  misery  that  followed.  And  then  she  thought  of  Ru- 
pert, standing  scholarly  and  apart  from  life — no  figure  of  a 
hero,  but  one  whom  she  trusted,  in  some  queer  way,  to  die 
for  the  faith  that  was  in  him,  if  need  asked.  And  then  again 
she  laughed,  a  little,  mournful  laugh  of  trouble  and  bewilder- 
ment. Life  seemed  so  wayward  and  haphazard,  such  a  waste 


266  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

of  qualities  that  were  hindered  by  weaknesses  tragic  in  their 
littleness.  If  Rupert's  steady  soul  could  be  housed  in  Will 
Underwood's  fine,  dominant  body,  the  world  would  see  a  man 
after  its  own  heart. 

And  Rupert  had  his  own  thoughts,  too,  in  this  silence  they 
were  sharing.  He  knew  to  a  heart-beat  the  way  of  his  love 
for  Nance,  the  gladness  and  the  torture  of  it;  and  again  he 
wondered,  with  passionate  dismay,  that  he  had  done  so  lit- 
tle to  make  himself  a  man  of  both  worlds,  ready  to  fight 
through  the  open  roads  for  her.  He  had  given  her  a  regard 
that,  by  its  very  strength  and  quality,  was  an  honour  in  the 
giving  and  the  receiving;  he  had  built  high  dreams  about 
her,  feeling  her  remote  and  unattainable;  but  he  had  failed 
in  common  sense,  in  grasp  of  the  truth  that  a  man,  before 
he  reaches  the  hilltops  where  high  dreams  find  reality,  must 
climb  the  workaday,  rough  fields.  He  understood  all  this, 
knew  for  the  first  time  that  his  father  had  been  just  in  leav- 
ing him  behind,  because  the  fighting-line  needs  men  who  can 
use  their  two  hands,  can  sit  a  horse,  can  face,  not  death  only 
but  all  the  harsh,  unlovely  details  that  war  asks  of  men.  His 
humiliation  was  bitter  and  complete.  There  was  Nance,  sit- 
ting at  the  spinet,  the  gusty  candlelight  playing  about  her 
trim,  royal  little  figure,  and  she  was  desirable  beyond  belief; 
and  yet  he  knew  that  she  stood,  not  for  faith  only  but  for 
deeds,  that  he  had  only  gone  a  few  paces  on  the  road  that 
led  to  the  fulfilment  of  his  dreams. 

The  silence  was  so  intimate,  so  full  of  the  strife  that  hin- 
ders comrade  souls  at  times,  that  Nance  knew  she  was  not 
alone.  She  glanced  up,  saw  Rupert  standing  in  the  door- 
way, read  the  misery  and  longing  in  his  face.  For  women 
have  a  gift  denied  to  men — they  see  us  as  an  open  book,  clear 
for  them  to  read,  while  we  can  only  sight  them  at  odd  mo- 
ments, like  startled  deer  that  cross  the  mountain  mists. 

"  You're  sad,  my  dear,"  she  said,  with  pleasant  handling 
of  the  intimacy  that  had  held  between  them  since  they  were 
boy  and  girl  together. 


THE  GLAD  DEFENCE  267 

"  No,"  he  answered,  hard  pressed  and  dour.  "  I  am — 
your  fool,  Nance,  as  I  always  was." 

"  Come  sit  beside  me,"  she  commanded.  "  I  shall  sing 
Stuart  songs  to  you — sing  them  till  you  hear  the  pipes  go 
screeling  up  Ben  Ore,  till  I  see  the  good  light  in  your  face 
again." 

Her  tenderness  was  hard  to  combat.  "  I  need  no  Stuart 
songs,"  he  said,  with  savage  bluntness. 

"  Why,  then,  you're  changeable.     You  liked  them  once." 

"  I'll  like  them  again,  Nance — but  not  to-night.  It  is  Stu- 
art deeds  I  ask,  and  they  do  not  come  my  way." 

Rupert  had  crossed  to  the  spinet,  and,  as  he  stood  looking 
down  at  her  with  grave  eyes,  Nance  was  aware  of  some  new 
mastery  about  him,  some  rugged  strength  that  would  have 
nothing  of  this  indoor,  parlour  warmth. 

"  Rupert,  what  is  amiss  with  you  ?  "  she  asked  gravely. 

He  was  himself  again — scholarly,  ironic.  "  What  is  amiss  ? 
You,  and  the  house  where  I'm  left  among  the  women,  because 
I  have  learned  no  discipline — it  is  a  pleasant  end,  Nance,  to 
my  dreams  of  the  riding  out.  Your  fool,  listening  to  his 
mother's  spaniel  whining  as  she  puts  him  to  bed,  and  the 
empty  house,  and  the  wind  that  calls  men  out  to  the  open — 
just  that." 

She  came  near  to  understanding  of  him  now.  While  there 
was  peace,  and  no  likelihood  at  all  of  war,  he  had  been  con- 
tent, in  his  odd,  indifferent  way,  to  stand  apart  from  action. 
But  now  that  war  had  come  he  reached  back  along  the  years, 
ashamed  and  impotent,  for  the  training  other  men  had  under- 
gone— the  training  that  made  his  fellows  ready  to  follow  the 
unexpected  call,  the  sudden  hazard. 

"  It  is  cruel !  "  said  Nance,  with  a  quick,  peremptory  lift- 
ing of  the  head.  "  You  could  fight,  if  only  they  would  let 
you " 

"  Just  so.  The  bird  could  fly,  if  its  wings  had  not  been 
broken  in  the  nest." 

She  knew  this  dangerous,  still  mood  of  his.     He  was   a 


268  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

civilian,  untrained,  unready,  left  at  home  while  stronger  men 
were  taking  the  hardships.  In  every  line  of  his  face,  in  the 
resolute,  dark  eyes,  there  was  desperate  shame  and  self-con- 
tempt; and  yet  he  fancied  he  was  hiding  all  show  of  feeling 
from  her.  Nance  felt  the  pity  of  it — felt  more  than  pity — 
found  the  tears  so  ready  that  she  turned  again  to  the  spinet 
and  began  playing  random  odds  and  ends  of  ballads.  And 
through  all  the  stress  she  took  a  grip  of  some  purpose  that  had 
been  with  her  constantly  these  last  days.  Will  Underwood — 
his  dominant,  big  person,  his  gift  of  wooing — had  gone  from 
her  life.  She  was  lonely  and  afraid,  and  found  no  help  ex- 
cept along  the  road  of  sacrifice — the  road  trodden  hard  and 
firm  by  generations  of  women  seeking  help  in  need. 

"  Let  me  mend  your  life  for  you,"  she  said,  glancing,  up 
with  bewildering  appeal  and  tenderness. 

Rupert  was  young  to  beguilement  of  this  sort.  Her  eyes 
were  kindly  with  him.  There  was  a  warmth  and  fragrance 
round  about  the  parlour  that  hindered  perception  of  the  finer 
issues.  And  he  knew  in  this  moment  that  even  a  good  love 
and  steady  can  tempt  a  man  unworthily. 

From  the  moors  that  guarded  Windyhough  there  came  a 
sudden  fury  of  the  wind,  a  rattle  of  frozen  sleet  against  the 
windows.  And  Rupert  lifted  his  head,  answering  the  bid- 
ding of  the  open  heath.  "  You  cannot  mend  my  life,"  he  said 
sharply.  "  How  could  you,  Nance  ?  " 

"  You  thought  so  once."  Her  glance  was  friendly,  full  of 
affection  and  great  liking;  and  so  well  had  she  been  schooling 
herself  to  the  new,  passionate  desire  for  sacrifice  that  Rupert 
read  more  in  it  than  the  old  comradeship.  "  What  have  I 
done,  that  I  cannot  help  you  now  ?  " 

He  was  dizzied  by  the  unexpectedness,  the  swiftness  of  this 
night  surprise.  Here  was  Nance,  her  face  turned  eagerly 
toward  him,  and  she  was  reminding  him  of  the  devotion  he 
had  shown  her  in  years  past.  He  had  no  key  to  the  riddle, 
could  not  guess  how  desperate  she  was  in  her  wish  to  hide 
Will  Underwood's  indignities  under  cover  of  this  sacrifice  for 


THE  GLAD  DEFENCE  269 

Rupert's  sake — Rupert,  whom  she  liked  so  well  and  pitied. 

"  Shall  I  not  sing  to  you  now  ?  "  she  repeated,  with  pleasant 
coquetry.  "If  you  have  no  Stuart  songs — why,  let  me  sing 
you  Martha's  doleful  ballad  of  Sir  Robert  who  rode  over 
Devilsbridge,  and  came  riding  back  again  without  his  head. 
It  was  a  foolish  thing  to  do,  but  it  makes  a  moving  ballad, 
Rupert." 

Her  mood  would  not  be  denied.  Tender,  gay,  elusive,  she 
tempted  him  to  ask  what  she  was  ready — for  sake  of  sacri- 
fice— to  give.  There  was  reward  here  for  the  empty  boy- 
hood, the  empty  days  of  shame  since  the  men  of  the  house 
rode  out.  It  was  all  unbelievable,  unsteadying.  He  had  only 
to  cross  to  Nance's  side,  it  seemed,  had  only  to  plead,  as  he 
had  done  more  than  once  in  days  past,  for  the  betrothal  kiss. 
He  recalled  how  she  had  met  these  wild  love-makings  of  his 
— with  pity  and  a  little  laughter,  and  a  heart  untouched  by 
any  sort  of  love  for  him.  And  now — all  that  was  changed. 

The  moment  seemed  long  in  passing.  Within  reach  there 
was  Nance,  desirable  beyond  any  speech  of  his  to  tell ;  and  yet 
he  could  not  cross  to  her.  It  was  as  if  a  sword  divided  them, 
with  its  keen  edge  set  toward  him.  He  did  not  know  him- 
self, could  not  understand  the  grip  that  held  him  back  from 
her,  though  feet  and  heart  were  willing.  Then  it  grew  clear 
to  him. 

"  Nance,"  he  said  sharply,  "  do  you  remember  the  Brig  o' 
Tryst?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  she  answered,  with  simple  tenderness.  "  I 
remember  that  I  hurt  you  there.  You  pleaded  so  well  that 
day,  Rupert — and  now  you're  dumb,  somehow." 

"  Because — Nance,  there  has  war  come  since  then,  and  it 
has  proved  us  all."  He  laughed,  the  old,  unhappy  laugh  of 
irony  and  self-contempt.  "  There's  Simon  Foster,  bent  with 
rheumatism,  and  Nat  the  Shepherd,  too  infirm  to  do  anything 
but  smoke  his  pipe  and  babble  of  the  '15  Rising,  and— your 
fool,  Nance.  You've  a  gallant  house  of  men  about  you." 

And  Nance  was  silent.     Some  deeper  feeling  than  pity  or 


270  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

haphazard  sacrifice  was  stirring  her,  for  she  saw  Rupert  as 
he  was,  saw  him  with  a  clearness,  a  knowledge  of  him,  that 
would  never  leave  her.  In  retreat,  against  his  will,  in  utter 
darkness  of  hope  and  forward  purpose,  he  had  found  the 
right  way  and  the  ready  to  Nance's  heart.  His  grip  of  hon- 
our was  so  resolute.  There  was  nothing  scholarly  or  fanci- 
ful about  him  now.  Through  temptation  of  her  own  mak- 
ing, through  a  desire  extreme  and  passionate  and  easy  to  be 
read,  he  had  won  through  to  this  starry  sort  of  abnegation 
that  set  well  on  him.  He  was  no  proven  man,  and  he  dis- 
dained for  that  reason  to  claim  a  woman's  favours;  and  the 
breed  of  him  showed  clear. 

The  wind  swept  down  from  the  moors  with  a  snarl  that  set 
the  windows  shaking.  And  Rupert,  without  a  backward 
glance,  went  into  the  hall  and  opened  the  main  door.  The 
wind  came  yelping  in,  powdering  the  threshold  with  driven 
sleet  and  chilling  him  to  the  bone.  He  was  aware  only  of 
heart-sickness,  of  the  fragrance  that  was  Nance  Demaine,  of 
his  need  to  get  out  into  the  open  road;  and  there  was  some- 
thing in  the  lash  of  the  sleet  across  his  face  that  was  friendly 
as  the  moors  he  loved. 

And  as  he  stood  there  he  heard  the  tippety-tap  of  hoofs, 
far  down  the  bridle-road  that  led  to  Windyhough.  And 
hope,  a  sudden  vivid  hope,  returned  to  him.  He  had  not 
needed  the  warm,  scented  parlour,  the  songs  of  old  alle- 
giance ;  but,  to  the  heart  of  him,  he  was  eager  for  this  music 
of  a  hard-riding  man  who  brought  news,  maybe,  of  Stuart 
deeds. 

Tippety-tap,  tappety-tip,  the  sound  of  hoofs  came  intermit- 
tently between  the  wind-bursts,  and  it  seemed  now  to  be  very 
near  the  gate.  While  he  waited,  his  head  bent  eagerly 
toward  the  track,  Lady  Royd  came  downstairs  after  bidding 
her  spaniel  good-night,  shivered  as  the  wind  swept  through 
the  hall,  and  ran  forward  fretfully  when  she  saw  Rupert 
standing  in  the  doorway. 

"  My  dear,  is  it  not  cold  enough  already  in  the  house  ?  "  she 


THE  GLAD  DEFENCE  271 

complained.    "You  need  not  let  the  wind  in  through  open 

1  99 

doors. 

"  Listen,  mother !  "  he  said,  not  turning  his  head.  "  There's 
a  horseman  riding  fast.  He  is  bringing  news." 

"Oh,  you  are  fanciful.  This  Hunter's  Wind  always  sent 
your  wits  astray,  Rupert.  You  heard  too  many  nursery-tales 
of  the  Ghostly  Hunt,  and  Gabriel's  Hounds,  and  all  their  fool- 
ish superstitions." 

"  I  hear  a  rider  coming  up  with  news,"  said  Rupert  ob- 
stinately, moving  out  into  the  courtyard.  "It  may  be  Oli- 
phant  of  Muirhouse." 

Simon  Foster,  at  this  time,  was  just  outside  the  gate,  work- 
ing to  the  last  edge  of  dusk  to  get  in  a  few  more  barrow- 
loads  of  wood  for  the  indoor  fires.  Not  all  the  scoldings  of 
the  other  servants  had  persuaded  him  to  so  necessary  a  bit 
of  work,  but  Martha  had,  when  she  drew  a  tearful  picture 
of  the  cold  kitchen  they  would  have  to  sit  in  to-night  if  he 
failed  them.  There  were  barely  logs  enough,  it  seemed,  to 
feed  the  rest  of  the  house,  and  the  kitchen  must  go  fireless. 
And  Simon,  with  steady  contempt  of  household  labour  when 
he  longed  to  be  out  in  the  open  fight,  had  grumbled  his  way 
to  the  pile  of  tree-trunks  that  littered  the  outside  of  the  court- 
yard. 

"  And  I  thought  myself  a  fighting  man,"  he  muttered,  saw- 
ing and  chopping  with  a  speed  born,  not  of  zeal,  but  of  ill- 
temper;  "  and  the  end  of  it  all  is  just  bringing  wood  in,  so  that 
silly  wenches  can.  sit  up  late  and  gossip  over  a  wasteful  fire.  • 
Well,  life's  as  it's  made,  I  reckon,  but  I'm  varry  thankful  I 
had  no  hand  i'  the  making." 

He  had  filled  his  barrow,  and  was  stooping  to  the  handles, 
when  he,  too,  heard  the  beat  of  hoofs  come  ringing  up  be- 
tween the  wind-beats.  The  storm,  perhaps,  had  stirred  even 
his  unfanciful  outlook  upon  life;  for  he  was  strangely  rest- 
less to-night,  and  ready  to  believe  that  some  miracle  might 
come  to  rouse  them  from  their  fireside  life  at  Windyhough. 
He  turned  his  head  up-wind,  one  hairy  ear  cocked  like  a  span- 


272  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

iel's,  and  listened  for  a  while.  The  gale  began  to  fall  a  lit- 
tle, and  he  could  hear  the  quick,  recurrent  tippety-tap  more 
frequently. 

He  left  his  barrow,  hobbled  across  the  courtyard,  saw  Ru- 
pert and  his  mother  standing  in  the  light  of  the  scudding 
moon  that  fought  for  mastery  with  the  gloaming. 

"  There's  a  horse  galloping,  Simon,"  said  Rupert.  "  Did 
you  hear  him?" 

"  Ay,  I  heard  him  right  enough ;  and  I'm  wondering  who 
the  rider  is.  It  might  be  Sir  Jasper,  or  it  might  be  one  o' 
Maister  Oliphant's  wild-riding  breed " 

"  Oh,  you're  mistaken,  both  of  you !  "  broke  in  Lady  Royd 
fretfully.  "  The  snow  would  deaden  hoof-beats.  I  can  hear 
none,  I  tell  you." 

"  Nay,"  said  Simon  stolidly,  "  the  road's  harder  than  the 
snow's  soft  just  yet.  By  and  by  it  will  be  different,  when  the 
wind  drops.  We'll  be  snowed  up  by  morn,  my  lady." 

And  now  her  untrained  ear  caught  the  tippety-tap,  the  ring 
of  a  gallop  close  at  hand.  "  It  may  be  Sir  Jasper,"  she  echoed. 
"  Oh,  I  trust  you  are  right,  Simon — so  long  as  he  rides  un- 
wounded,"  she  added,  quick  to  find  the  despondent  note. 

The  wind  was  settling  fast.  Now  and  then  it  yelped  and 
whined  like  a  dog  driven  out  from  home  on  a  stark  night; 
but  the  snow  was  falling  ever  a  little  more  steadily,  more 
thickly.  And  into  the  blur  of  snow  and  moonlight,  across 
the  last  edge  of  the  gloam,  the  galloping  horseman  rode 
through  the  open  gate  into  the  courtyard,  and  pulled  up,  and 
swung  from  saddle.  He  looked  from  one  to  another  of  those 
who  stood  this  side  the  porch. 

"  Is  that  you,  Master  Rupert  ?  "  he  asked,  without  sign  of 
haste  or  emotion. 

"Yes,  Shackleton.     What's  your  news?" 

"  Sir  Jasper's  lying  at  my  farm.  He's  ta'en  a  hurt,  and 
sent  me  forrard — seeing  he  couldn't  come  himself — and  he 
said  to  me  that  you're  to  keep  Windyhough  against  a  plaguy 
lot  o'  thieves." 


THE  GLAD  DEFENCE  273 

" What  thieves,  Ben?" 

"  Nay,  I  know  not.  He  said  they  were  riding  an  odd  mile 
or  two  behind,  and  no  time  to  waste." 

Lady  Royd  was  crying  softly  in  the  background,  secure  in 
her  belief  that  the  worst  had  happened  and  that  her  husband's 
hurts  were  mortal.  Rupert  did  not  heed  her,  did  not  heed 
anything  except  the  tingling  sense  of  mastery  and  strength 
that  was  firing  his  young,  unproved  soul.  Through  the  long 
nights  and  days  of  self-contempt  he  had  longed  for  this. 
When  his  heart  had  been  sick  to  find  himself  among  the 
women  and  the  greybeards,  he  had  fought,  as  if  his  life  de- 
pended on  it,  for  the  dim  hope  that  his  chance  would  come  one 
day.  And,  because  he  was  prepared,  there  was  no  surprise 
in  Shackleton's  news,  no  hurried  question  as  to  how  this  sud- 
den onset  must  be  met. 

"  My  father  sent  no  other  message,  Ben  ?  "  he  asked  curtly, 

"  Aye,  he  did,  and  he  seemed  rare  and  anxious  I  shouldn't 
forget  it,  like.  He  said  he  trusted  you — just  trusted  you." 

Rupert  had  kept  his  watch,  through  the  sickness  of  the  wait- 
ing-time ;  and  at  the  end  of  it  was  this  trumpet-call  from  the 
father  who  had  bred  him.  And  Simon  Foster,  watching  him 
with  affection's  close  scrutiny,  saw  the  scholarly,  lean  years 
slip  off  from  the  shoulders  that  were  squared  already  to  the 
coming  stress. 

"  Bar  the  outer  gate,  Simon,"  he  said.  Then,  with  a 
soldier's  brisk  attention  to  detail,  he  turned  to  Ben  Shackle- 
ton.  "  How  many  of  them  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  A  score  or  more,  so  Sir  Jasper  said." 

"  Then  step  indoors.     We  need  you,  Ben." 

Shackleton  made  a  movement  to  get  up  to  saddle  again. 
"  Nay,  nay !  I've  the  kine  to  fodder,  and  a  wife  waiting  for 
me." 

"  I'm  in  command  here,"  said  the  master  sharply.  "  We 
need  you,  and  you  say  there's  no  time  to  waste." 

Simon  Foster  came  back  from  drawing  the  stout  oaken 
bars  across  the  gate.  "  They're  riding  up  the  gap,"  he  said. 


274  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  I  could  hear  their  horses  slipping  all  ways,  master,  as  if 
the  roads  had  teazed  'em;  but  they're  riding  varry  near. 
We  haven't  a  year  and  a  day  to  waste  in  talk,  though  Shackle- 
ton  fancies  we  have.  Besides,"  he  added  grimly,  "  the  gate's 
barred,  and  they'll  be  here  before  you  could  open  it  and  ride 
through." 

"  What's  to  be  done  with  my  horse,  supposing  I  did  stay  ?  " 
asked  Shackleton.  Like  a  true  farmer,  he  was  not  to  be  hur- 
ried, and  his  first  thought  was  always  for  his  live-stock. 

Simon  Foster  snatched  the  bridle  from  his  hand,  went  across 
to  the  stables,  and  was  back  again  before  Shackleton  had  re- 
covered from  his  surprise. 

"  That  is  horse-stealing,  Simon,  or  summat  like  it,"  grumbled 
the  farmer. 

"  No,"  answered  Simon,  "  it's  horse-keeping.  We  need  you, 
Ben.  The  master  spoke  a  true  word  there." 

"  And  what's  all  the  moil  about  ?  I  relish  a  square  fight 
as  well  as  another;  it's  a  bit  of  a  holiday,  like,  fro'  farming 
peevish  lands;  but  I  like  to  know  just  what  I'm  fighting  for. 
Stands  to  plain  reason  I  do." 

"  For  the  honour  of  the  Royds,"  said  Rupert,  with  sharp 
appeal. 

"  Well,  then,  you  have  me,  master.  Just  tell  me  what  I've 
to  do;  I'm  slow  i'  my  wits,  but  quick  wi'  my  hands,  and 
always  was;  and  I  learned  young  to  fire  a  musket." 

"  It's  a  varry  good  habit  to  learn,"  growled  Simon  Foster, 
"  'specially  when  a  body  learns  it  young."  And  then  again 
he  turned  his  head  sharply.  "  They've  come,  I  reckon,  mas- 
ter," he  said,  with  stolid  satisfaction. 

Goldstein's  men  had  ridden  the  last  mile  of  their  journey  in 
evil  temper.  The  track  was  rough,  full  of  steep  hills  and 
sharp,  dangerous  corners  that  rendered  it  difficult  enough  in  a 
dry  season ;  in  this  weather,  and  in  the  snowy,  muddled  light, 
it  seemed  impassable  to  horsemen  used  only  to  flat  country. 
They  were  hungry,  moreover,  and  wet  to  the  skin,  and  their 
only  achievement  so  far  was  to  lose  the  first  fugitive  they 


THE  GLAD  DEFENCE  275 

had  pursued  since  Derby  town  was  left  behind.  Goldstein 
himself  was  thankful  for  one  thing  only — that  this  lonely  track 
had  no  byways  opening  out  on  either  hand.  The  road,  twist 
as  it  would,  kept  to  its  single  line,  showing  them  no  choice  of 
route  in  a  country  unknown  and  difficult. 

It  seemed  interminable,  this  travelling  at  a  slow,  uneasy 
trot  over  broken  ground;  but,  just  as  he  began  to  fear  that 
his  men  would  mutiny  outright,  he  looked  up  the  rise  ahead 
and  saw  lights  twinkling  through  the  moonlit  storm  of  snow. 
The  lights  were  many,  blinking  down  on  him  from  a  house 
that  surely,  by  the  length  of  its  front,  was  one  of  quality. 

"  We're  home,  my  lads,"  he  said,  with  a  sharp  laugh  of  re- 
lief. "  That  yokel  lied  about  the  distance." 

"  Time  we  were,"  snarled  one  of  the  troopers,  with  a 
rough  German  oath. 

Goldstein  did  not  heed,  but  slipped  from  saddle  and  put  a 
hand  to  the  courtyard  gate.  When  he  found  it  barred,  he 
thrust  his  heavy  bulk  against  it.  It  did  not  give  to  his 
weight.  And  this  daunted  him  a  little ;  for  he  had  not  looked 
for  resistance  of  any  sort,  once  they  had  reached  the  end  of 
this  long,  hilly  road.  He  had  pictured,  indeed,  a  house  of 
women,  with  only  the  Prince  and  Sir  Jasper  to  stand  against 
them,  a  swift  surprise,  and  after  that  food  and  licence  and 
good  liquor  to  reward  them  for  the  hardships  of  the  day.  He 
kicked  the  gate  impatiently,  and  cried  to  those  within  to  open ; 
and  the  dogs  shut  up  in  kennel  answered  him  with  long,  run- 
ning howls. 

Rupert  standing  with  Simon  Foster  on  the  threshold  of  the 
porch,  felt  gaiety  step  close  to  his  elbow,  like  a  trusted  friend. 
He  crossed  the  yard  and  stood  just  this  side  the  gateway. 

"Who  knocks?"  he  asked. 

"  The  King,"  snapped  Goldstein. 

"  You  will  be  more  explicit,"  said  Rupert,  with  a  touch 
of  the  old  scholarly  disdain.  "  By  your  voice,  I  think  you 
come  from  Hanover.  We  serve  the  Stuart  here." 

Through  the  spite  of  the  falling  wind,  through  his  weari- 


276  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

ness  of  mind  and  body,  Goldstein  knew  that  a  gentleman 
stood  on  the  far  side  of  this  gateway.  And  breeding,  in  a 
farm-hand  or  a  king,  disturbed  his  sordid  outlook  on  this 
life. 

"  You'll  not  serve  him  long.     Where's  Sir  Jasper  Royd  ?  " 

"  Somewhere  on  the  open  road,  following  his  Prince.  I 
am  his  son,  and  master  here,  at  your  service,  till  he  re- 
turns." 

Nance,  hearing  the  confusion  out  of  doors,  had  run  into 
the  courtyard.  Lady  Royd  was  standing  apart,  as  if  nothing 
mattered,  now  she  had  heard  that  Sir  Jasper  lay  wounded  at 
the  farm;  if  her  man  had  not  been  strong  enough  to  ride  in 
and  guard  her  at  such  a  time,  he  must  be  near  to  death,  she 
felt.  She  had  made  him  her  idol,  starving  her  sons  of  love 
because  the  father  claimed  it;  and  she  was  paying  her  debts 
now,  in  confusion  and  humiliation.  Nance  scarcely  heeded 
her.  Her  eyes  passed  from  Simon  and  Ben  Shackleton  to 
the  slim,  erect  figure  at  the  gate,  and  instinctively  she  crossed 
to  Rupert's  side.  There  was  peril  on  the  far  side  of  this 
gate — peril  grave  and  urgent — and  yet  she  was  conscious  only 
of  a  thrill  of  pride  and  tenderness.  The  scholar  had  longed 
for  his  chance  to  come;  and  the  answer  had  reached  him, 
without  warning  or  preparation,  from  the  heart  of  the  stormy 
night.  Her  thoughts  were  running  fast ;  she  contrasted  Will 
Underwood's  response  to  the  first  call  of  the  Rising  with  Ru- 
pert's gay  acceptance  of  this  hazard;  and  she  was  glad  to  be 
here  at  Windyhough. 

"  Sir  Jasper's  '  on  the  open  road,  following  his  Prince '  ?  " 
mimicked  Goldstein,  breaking  the  uneasy  silence.  "  To  be 
plain,  he  has  followed  the  Pretender  indoors  here,  and  I  know 
it." 

Rupert  had  known  only  that  he  was  bidden  to  guard  the 
house  against  what  Shackleton  had  named  "  a  plaguy  lot  o' 
thieves,"  had  accepted  the  trust  with  soldierly  obedience ;  but 
the  venture  showed  a  new  significance.  He  was  cool-headed, 
practical,  now  that  his  years  of  high  dreaming  were  put  to 


THE  GLAD  DEFENCE  277 

the  touchstone;  and  he  snatched  at  Goldstein's  explanation 
of  this  night  assault. 

"  You  think  the  Prince  is  a  guest  here  at  Windyhough  ?  " 
he  asked  suavely. 

"  I  know  it.  We've  followed  the  two  of  them  over  the 
foulest  bridle-track  in  England — just  because  we  were  so 
sure." 

Sir  Jasper's  heir  looked  at  the  sturdy,  snow-blurred  gate 
that  stood  between  the  honour  of  his  house  and  these  troopers, 
whose  oaths,  with  an  odd  lack  of  discipline,  threaded  all  their 
leader's  talk.  And  he  laughed,  so  quietly  that  Nance  glanced 
sharply  up,  thinking  his  father  had  returned;  for  Sir  Jasper 
carried  just  this  laugh  in  face  of  danger. 

"  The  Prince  is  here  ? "  he  said.  "  Then  hack  your  way 
through  the  gate  and  take  him.  He  is  well  guarded." 

Goldstein,  chilled  for  a  moment  by  the  unexpected  strength 
of  the  defence,  grew  savage.  "You'll  not  surrender?" 

"  No  Royd  does,  sir.     We  live  leal,  or  we  die  leal." 

"  Then  God  help  you  when  my  troopers  hack  a  way  in ! 
They're  not  tame  at  any  time,  and  your  cursed  roads  have  not 
smoothed  their  tempers." 

"  We  are  waiting,"  said  the  master  quietly. 

"  Oh,  well  done,  Rupert ! "  whispered  Nance,  with  a  light 
touch  on  his  arm. 

He  looked  down  at  her — down  and  beyond  her,  for  in 
truth  he  had  no  need  of  Stuart  glamour  till  this  night's  busi- 
ness was  well  through.  "You  Nance?  Get  back  to  the 
house,  and  take  my  mother  with  you ;  the  gate  will  be  down, 
I  tell  you,  and  after  that — it  will  be  no  place  for  women.  And, 
Simon,"  he  added,  "•  bring  three  muskets  out.  Hurry,  man !  " 

Nance,  high-spirited  and  new  to  commands  of  this  sharp, 
peremptory  kind,  went  submissively  enough,  she  knew  not 
why.  And,  near  the  porch,  she  found  Lady  Royd  busy  with 
the  spaniel  which  had  run  out  to  find  her. 

"  Poor  little  man ! "  Sir  Jasper's  wife  was  murmuring,  as 
she  kissed  the  foolish,  pampered  brute  that,  under  happier, 


278  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

auspices,  would  have  been  a  dog.  "  He  missed  me,  Nance, 
and  he  came,  getting  wet  feet  in  the  snow,  and  you  know  how 
delicate  he  is.  He  is  all  I  have,  Nance,"  she  added,  with  a 
touch  of  pathos,  real  in  its  futility  "  since — since  they  told  me 
Sir  Jasper  was  dying  at  the  farm." 

Nance  remembered  how  Rupert  had  met  the  sudden  call  to 
arms,  and  gathered  something  of  his  buoyancy.  "  Sir  Jas- 
per is  not  dying,"  she  said  sharply.  "  I'll  not  believe  it.  He 
will  come  by  and  by,  when  he  has  recovered  from  his 
wound " 

"  You  think  he  will  come  ?  "  put  in  the  other,  helpless  and 
snatching  at  any  straw  of  comfort. 

"  Oh,  I  know  it ;  but  we  must  get  indoors,  and  let  Rupert 
guide  the  siege." 

Lady  Royd  had  not  learned  the  true  gaiety  of  danger ;  but 
Nance,  from  the  childhood  shared  with  hard-riding  brothers, 
had  gained  a  courage  and  experience  that  served  her  well 
just  now.  None  knew  what  would  chance  to  Windy  hough 
before  the  dawn;  and,  for  her  part,  she  did  not  look  before 
or  after,  but  took  the  present  as  it  came.  And  her  instinct 
was  Rupert's,  as  she  shepherded  Lady  Royd  into  the  hall — 
that  here  at  last,  thank  God !  was  action  after  long  sitting  by 
the  hearth. 

Captain  Goldstein,  meanwhile,  convinced  that  his  entry  into 
Windyhough  was  not  to  be  bloodless,  after  all,  had  tried  his 
strength  once  more  against  the  gate  of  the  courtyard,  and, 
finding  it  solid,  had  cast  about  for  some  way  of  breaking 
through  it.  The  moon  was  making  greater  headway  now 
through  the  rifted  snow-clouds,  and  he  saw  the  pile  of  tree- 
trunks  at  which  Simon  Foster  had  been  busy  until  Sir  Jas- 
per's messenger  had  disturbed  him  at  the  wood-chopping. 

Like  his  troopers,  Goldstein  was  wet  and  hungry  and  im- 
patient, and  his  one  thought  was  to  rive  the  gate  down, 
whatever  strength  opposed  him  on  the  far  side  of  it.  He 
gave  a  sharp  order,  and  six  of  his  men  lifted  a  trunk  of  syca- 
more, and  poised  it  for  a  while,  and  rammed  the  gate.  The 


THE  GLAD  DEFENCE  279 

first  thrust  strained  the  gate  against  the  cross-bars,  and  broke 
back  sharply  on  the  men  who  held  the  ram,  disordering  them 
for  a  moment. 

The  master  waited,  his  musket  ready  primed.  "  Simon," 
he  said,  "  and  you,  Ben  Shackleton,  we're  bidden  to  hold  the 
house,  but  gad!  we'll  do  a  little  in  the  courtyard  first." 

Goldstein's  men  came  at  the  gate  again,  struck  savagely, 
found  by  chance  a  weak  spot  in  the  wood.  And  this  time 
they  splintered  a  wide  opening.  They  drew  back  a  little,  to 
get  their  breath,  and  through  the  opening  Rupert  saw  faintly 
in  the  moonlight  the  half  of  a  man's  body.  Simon  Foster, 
watching  him,  saw  a  still,  passionless  light  steal  into  his 
eyes  as  he  lifted  the  musket  to  his  shoulder  and  fired  with 
brisk  precision.  There  was  a  cry  of  anguish  from  without, 
a  sudden,  heavy  fall,  and  afterwards  the  guttural  voice  of  Cap- 
tain Goldstein,  bidding  his  troopers  clear  the  dead  away  and 
ram  the  gate  again. 

Rupert,  for  his  part,  was  reloading.  And  he  was  tasting 
that  exquisite,  tragic  glee  known  only  to  those  who  kill  their 
first  man  in  righteous  battle.  He  was  drinking  from  a  well 
old  as  man's  history;  and  its  waters,  while  they  swept  com- 
punction and  all  else  away,  gave  him  a  strange  zest  for  this 
world's  adventures. 

The  troopers  were  desperate  now.  They  rammed  the  splin- 
tered gate  with  a  fury  that  broke  the  cross-bars;  and  Lady 
Royd,  watching  it  all  from  the  porch,  saw  a  troop  of  savages, 
dusky  in  the  moonlight — let  loose  from  hell,  so  it  seemed 
to  her  disordered  fancy — swarm  through  the  opening.  She 
glanced  at  Rupert,  saw  him  take  careful  aim  again;  and  this 
time  there  was  no  cry  from  the  fallen,  for  he  dropped  dead  in 
his  paces,  so  suddenly  that  the  man  behind  tripped  over  him. 

Simon  Foster,  who  had  preached  the  gospel  of  steadiness 
so  constantly  to  the  young  master,  aimed  wildly  at  Goldstein, 
and  missed  him  by  a  foot;  but  Shackleton,  slow  and  sure  by 
temperament,  picked  out  a  hulking  fellow  for  his  mark  and 
hit  him  through  the  thigh. 


280  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  Get  to  the  house !  "  said  Rupert,  his  new  mastery  sitting 
firm  and  lightly  on  him. 

Like  the  Prince  in  retreat,  he  stood  aside  till  his  men  had 
found  safety,  and  then  passed  in  himself.  A  few  shots  spat- 
tered on  the  house-front,  and  one  grazed  his  shoulder ;  but  the 
enemy  were  huddled  too  close  together  in  the  courtyard,  and 
they  jostled  one  another  while  talking  hurried  aim.  Just  in 
time  he  leaped  across  the  threshold,  clashed  the  main  door  in 
Goldstein's  face,  and  shot  the  bolts  home. 

Inside,  the  first  note  that  greeted  him  was  the  yapping  of 
his  mother's  spaniel.  And  his  eyes  sought  Nance's  with  in- 
stinctive humour. 

"  Rupert,  how  can  you  smile  ? "  asked  Lady  Royd,  dis- 
traught and  fretful. 

"  Because  needs  must,  mother,"  he  answered  gently.  "  And 
now,  by  your  leave,  you  will  take  Nance  upstairs.  There's 
work  to  be  done  down  here." 

Nance  touched  his  arm  in  passing.  He  did  not  know  it. 
Body,  and  soul,  and  mind,  he  was  bent  on  this  work  of  holding 
Windyhough  for  his  father  and  the  Prince.  He  had  lived 
with  loneliness  and  patience  and  denial  of  all  enterprise;  and 
now  there  was  a  virile  havoc  about  the  house. 

"  Now  for  the  good  siege,  Simon,"  he  said,  listening  to  the 
uproar  out  of  doors. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  BRUNT  OF   IT 

THE  master  turned  from  the  doorway  to  find  the  women- 
servants  and  old  Nat,  the  shepherd,  crowded  at  the  far  end 
of  the  hall.  They  were  agape  with  mingled  fear  and  curiosity, 
and  they  were  chattering  like  magpies. 

"  We'll  be  murdered  outright,"  said  the  kitchen-maid,  her 
pertness  gone. 

"  Aye,"  wept  the  housekeeper,  "  and  me  that  has  prayed, 
day  in  and  day  out  for  fifty  years,  that  I'd  die  easy  and 
snuglike  i'  my  bed.  There's  something  not  modest  in  dying 
out  o'  bed,  I  always  did  say." 

The  master  flashed  round  on  them;  and,  without  a  word 
said,  they  obeyed  the  new  air  of  him,  and  crept  shamefacedly 
along  the  corridor.  Only  Nat  stood  his  ground — Nat,  who 
was  old  beyond  belief,  whose  hand  shook  on  the  long  clay 
pipe  that  ceased  burning  only  when  he  slept. 

"  There's  a  terrible  moil  and  clatter,  master,"  he  said,  laugh- 
ing vacantly.  "  There'll  be  an  odd  few  wanting  to  get  in- 
doors, I  reckon." 

"  Yes,  Nat,  yes,"  said  the  master  impatiently. 

"Well,  ye  munnot  let  'em.  And  there'll  be  a  fight  like; 
but,  bless  ye,  'twill  be  naught  to  what  we  saw  i'  the  '15  Ris- 
ing. I  was  out  i'  it  wi'  your  father,  and  men  were  men  i' 
those  days.  Eh,  but  there  were  bonnie  doings !  " 

Nat  had  forgotten  that  the  '15  had  been  more  hapless  and 
ill-conducted  than  this  present  Rising.  He  was  back  again 
with  the  young  hope,  the  young  ardour,  that  had  taken  him 
afield ;  and  he  was  living  in  the  dotard's  sanctuary,  where  all 
old  deeds  seem  well  done  and  only  the  present  lacks  true 
warmth  and  colour. 

281 


282  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  He  tells  his  lie  varry  well,  and  sticks  to  it,"  laughed 
Simon  Foster.  "  I  was  out  i'  that  Rising  myself,  master,  as 
you  know,  and  if  there  were  any  bonnie  doings,  I  never 
chanced  on  them." 

"  Nat  is  not  wise.  Let  him  be,"  said  the  master,  with  a 
chivalrous  regard  that  was  cradled  deep  in  the  superstitions 
of  the  moor. 

The  men  without  were  battering  uselessly  at  the  great, 
nail-studded  door.  It  had  been  built  in  times  when  callers 
were  apt  to  come  knocking  on  no  peaceful  errand;  and  it 
was  secure  against  the  battering-ram  that  had  splintered  the 
weaker  courtyard  gate.  For  all  that,  Rupert  bade  Simon 
and  Ben  Shackleton  help  him  to  up-end  the  heavy  settle  that 
stood  along  the  wall.  They  buttressed  the  door  with  it,  and 
were  safe  on  this  side  of  the  house  from  any  rough-and-ready 
method  of  attack. 

Then  Rupert,  precise  in  his  regard  for  detail,  led  them  to 
the  kitchens.  The  women  were  huddled  over  a  roaring  fire 
of  logs — the  fruits  of  Simon's  industry  not  long  ago — but 
Rupert  did  not  heed  them.  The  mullioned  windows  of  the 
house  were  stout  and  narrow,  and  the  only  inlet,  now  the 
main  door  was  safe,  was  by  this  kitchen  entrance.  The  door 
was  not  wide  enough  to  admit  more  than  one  man  at  a  time, 
and  its  timbers  could  be  trusted  to  resist  attack  until  warn- 
ing had  been  given  to  the  garrison. 

"  Martha,"  said  the  master,  choosing  by  instinct  the  one 
reliable  wench  among  these  chatterboxes,  "  your  post  is  at  the 
door  here.  You  will  warn  us  if  there  is  trouble  on  this  side." 

"  Oh,  aye,"  she  answered  cheerfully.  "  I've  clouted  a 
man's  lugs  before  to-day,  and  can  do  it  again,  I  reckon." 
And  she  picked  up  her  milking-stool,  which  was  lying  under 
the  sink  in  readiness  for  the  morrow's  milking,  set  it  down 
by  the  door,  and  seated  herself  with  a  deliberation  that  in 
itself  suggested  confidence. 

Then  the  master  went  upstairs,  with  a  light  step,  and  sta- 
tioned himself  at  the  window,  wider  and  more  perilous  than 


THE  BRUNT  OF  IT  283 

any  loophole,  which  overlooked  the  main  door.  It  was  the 
post  of  greatest  hazard,  given  him  by  his  father  in  that  make- 
believe  of  defence  which  had  preceded  Sir  Jasper's  riding- 
out. 

Rupert  glanced  down  at  the  six  muskets,  the  powder  flask, 
the  little  heap  of  bullets  that  lay  along  the  window-sill.  "  We 
thought  them  nursery-toys,  Simon  ?  "  he  said,  with  his  whim- 
sical, quick  smile.  "  We  even  took  the  glass  out  from  the 
window,  pretending  that  we  must  be  ready  for  the  sharp 
attack." 

"  Drill  pays,"  growled  Simon.  "  Aye,  keep  hard  at  it 
enough,  and  drill  pays." 

"  Yes,  faith  pays — it  is  drill,  as  I  told  you." 

"  Faith  can  bide.  We're  here  i'  the  stark  murk  of  it,  mas- 
ter, and  we'll  say  our  prayers  to-morrow — if  it  happens  we're 
alive." 

Rupert  took  up  the  muskets,  one  by  one,  saw  to  the  prim- 
ing of  them.  "  You'll  say  your  prayers  to-night,  Simon,  by 
getting  to  your  post,"  he  said  dryly.  "  Give  Ben  Shackleton 
the  loophole  on  the  west  side.  That  gives  us  three  sides 
guarded." 

The  two  men  went  heavy-footed  to  their  posts ;  and  Shackle- 
ton  turned  to  Simon  Foster  when  they  were  out  of  earshot. 
"  Young  master's  fair  uplifted,"  he  said.  "  He's  not  fey — 
that's  all  I  hope." 

"  He's  not  fey,"  said  Foster,  blunt  and  full  of  common 
sense.  "  He's  been  a  dreamer,  and  he's  wakened ;  and  we 
might  do  worse,  Ben,  than  waken  just  as  bright  as  he's 
done." 

The  master  stood  at  his  post,  and  felt  the  rebound  from 
his  own  high  spirits.  He  looked  out  at  the  blurred  moonlight, 
the  scattered  flakes  of  snow,  that  hid  the  over-watching  hills 
from  him.  The  old  self-doubt  returned.  He  was  pledged 
to  keep  the  house  secure — he  who  had  been  left  behind  be- 
cause he  was  not  trained  to  join  the  Rising.  And  he  had  little 
skill,  except  for  dreams  of  high  endeavour. 


284  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

He  lifted  his  head  suddenly.  From  the  courtyard  below  he 
heard  the  hum  of  guttural  voices.  Goldstein  and  his  men  were 
still  gathered  about  the  main  doorway,  hungry,  wet  to  the 
skin,  irresolute  as  to  the  best  plan  of  action. 

Rupert  was  no  dreamer  now.  He  could  see  nothing  in  the 
yard,  through  the  thick  snow  and  the  moon-haze ;  but  he  took 
up  a  musket  and  fired  at  random,  and  picked  up  a  second  gun, 
and  a  third,  and  snapped  the  trigger;  and  from  below  there 
came  a  yelp  of  pain,  a  running  of  men's  feet.  And  Rupert 
was  his  own  man  again,  forgetting  dreams,  remembering  only 
that  the  siege  was  here  in  earnest. 

Through  the  smoke  and  the  reek  of  gunpowder  Nance  De- 
maine  came  into  the  room. 

"  Where  is  my  post?  "  she  asked,  standing  trim  and  soldierly 
at  Rupert's  side. 

Again  she  was  met  by  the  glance  that  looked  through  and 
beyond  her,  as  if  she  stood  between  Rupert  and  some  settled 
purpose.  It  seemed  so  short  a  while  since  she  had  sat  at  the 
spinet,  had  seen  his  eyes  hungry  with  her,  as  if  she  were  all 
his  world;  and  now  he  scarcely  heeded  her.  The  riddle  was 
so  easy  for  a  man  to  guess,  so  hard  for  a  woman ;  and  Nance, 
soldier-bred  as  she  was,  was  piqued  by  the  master's  grave, 
single-minded  outlook  on  the  task  in  hand. 

"  Your  post,  Nance  ? "  he  echoed.  "  With  mother,  away 
from  any  chance  of  bullets." 

"  Did  I  shoot  so  badly,  then — those  days  we  practised  up 
the  fields?" 

"  No ;  but  this  is  men's  work,  Nance." 

"  You  have  a  garrison  of  three."  Some  wayward  humour, 
some  wish  to  hurt  him,  clouded  all  her  usual  kindliness.  He 
was  strong  and  did  not  need  her ;  and  she  missed  something 
pleasant  that  had  threaded  the  weariness  of  these  last  days. 
"  There's  Simon,  steady  enough,  but  old.  There  is  Ben 
Shackleton.  And  there  is — yourself,  Rupert,  very  young  to 
musketry.  Are  you  wise  to  refuse  your  last  recruit  ?  " 

The    taunt    found    its    mark.     This    daughter    of    Squire 


THE  BRUNT  OF  IT  285 

Roger's  had  an  odd  power  to  touch  the  depths  in  him, 
whether  for  pain  or  keen,  unreasoning  delight.  A  moment 
since  he  had  tasted  happiness,  had  had  no  thought  save  one 
— that  he  was  master  here,  fighting  an  enemy  of  flesh  and 
blood  at  last.  And  now  the  old  unrest  jcrept  in,  the  vague 
self-distrust  that  had  clouded  earlier  days. 

"  We're  few,  and  have  no  skill,"  he  said,  with  an  irony  that 
was  stubborn  and  weary  both;  "but  I  was  bred,  Nance,  to 
put  women  in  the  background  at  these  times." 

She  looked  at  him,  as  he  stood  in  the  cloudy  moonlight 
filtering  through  the  window.  She  knew  this  tone  of  his  so 
well — knew  that  her  hold  on  him  was  not  weakened,  after 
all.  "  Oh,  you  were  bred  to  that  superstition  ? "  she  said 
lightly.  "  As  if  women  were  ever  in  the  background,  Ru- 
pert! Why,  our  business  in  life  is  to  dance  in  front  of  you 
— always  a  little  in  front  of  you,  lest  you  capture  us.  Men, 
so  Lady  Royd  says,  are  merry  until — until — they  have  us 
safe  in  hand." 

She  dropped  him  a  curtsey;  and,  before  he  found  an 
answer,  she  was  gone.  And  the  master  turned  to  the  case- 
ment, hoping  for  the  sound  of  a  footfall  without,  the  chance 
of  another  quick,  haphazard  shot.  The  wind  had  dropped  to 
a  little,  whining  breeze;  but  there  was  no  other  sound  about 
this  house  that  stood  for  the  Stuart  against  odds.  The  snow 
was  thickening.  Rupert  watched  the  flakes  settle  on  the  win- 
dow-sill, ever  a  little  faster,  till  a  three-inch  ridge  was  raised. 
And  the  old  trouble  returned.  This  had  been  his  life  here 
— the  silence,  the  dumb  abnegations,  slow  and  cold  in  falling, 
that  had  built  a  wall  between  himself  and  happiness.  And 
suddenly  he  brushed  his  hand  sharply  across  the  sill,  scatter- 
ing the  snow.  It  was  his  protest  against  the  buried  yester- 
days. Then  he  took  up  the  three  muskets  he  had  fired,  and 
one  by  one  reloaded  them.  And  after  that  he  waited. 

An  hour  later  Simon  Foster,  stiff  already  from  standing  at 
the  south  window,  made  pretence  that  he  must  go  the  round 
of  the  house,  lest  younger  men  were  not  steady  at  their  posts. 


286  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

As  he  hobbled  down  the  corridor  that  led  to  the  north  side, 
he  saw  Nance  Demaine,  sitting  ghostlike  at  the  window. 
And  he  crossed  himself,  because  the  habits  of  fore-elders  are 
apt  to  cling  to  a  man,  however  dim  may  be  the  faith  of  his 
later  years. 

Nance  turned.     "Ah!  you,  Simon?" 

"  Why,  it's  ye,  Miss  Nance  ?  God  forgive  me,  I  thought  you 
a  boggart,  come  to  warn  us  the  old  house  was  tumbling- 
round  our  ears." 

"  Not  yet,  Simon,"  she  said  quietly.  "  I  heard  the  master 
say  one  side  was  unguarded — and  I  knew  where  the  muskets 
were  stored " 

"  But,  Miss  Nance,  it's  no  playing,  at  shooting,  this.  It 
may  varry  weel  be  a  longer  siege  than  you  reckon  for,  and 
we're  few;  and  it  means  sitting  and  waiting — waiting  and 
sitting — till  ye're  sick  for  a  wink  o'  sleep.  Nay,  nay!  You 
dunnot  know  what  strength  it  needs." 

"  I  nursed  a  sick  child  once — not  long  ago.  For  three 
days  and  nights,  Simon,  I  had  no  sleep." 

The  other  was  silent.  All  the  countryside  knew  that  story 
now — knew  how  Squire  Roger's  daughter  had  gone  on  some 
casual  errand  of  mercy  to  a  cottage  on  the  Demaine  lands, 
had  found  a  feckless  mother  nursing  a  child  far  gone  in  fever, 
had  stayed  on  and  fought  for  its  life  with  skill  and  hard  de- 
termination. Yet  Nance  spoke  of  it  now  without  thought 
of  any  courage  she  had  shown;  she  was  eager  only  to  prove 
that  she  had  a  right  to  take  her  place  among  the  men  in 
guarding  Windyhough. 

Simon  Foster  looked  at  the  girl's  figure,  the  orderly  line 
of  muskets.  She  seemed  workmanlike ;  and  he  approved  her 
with  a  sudden,  vigorous  nod. 

"  The  light's  dim,  Miss  Nance,"  he  growled,  turning  to 
hobble  down  the  corridor,  "  but  I  reckon  ye  can  aim." 

It  was  so  the  long  night  began.  The  wind  had  ceased 
altogether.  From  out  of  doors  there  was  no  sound,  of  man 
or  beast.  The  snow  fell  in  thicker  flakes,  and,  working 


THE  BRUNT  OF  IT  287 

silently  as  those  concerned  with  burials  do,  it  laid  a  shroud 
about  the  courtyard,  about  the  many  gables  of  the  house, 
about  the  firs  and  leafless  sycamores  that  guarded  Windy- 
hough  from  the  high  moors. 

On  the  north  side  of  the  house,  where  the  stables  and  the 
huddled  mass  of  farm-buildings  stood,  Goldstein's  men  were 
preparing  to  find  comfort  for  the  night  as  best  they  could. 
From  time  to  time  there  was  a  sound  of  voices  or  of  shuffling 
footsteps,  deadened  by  the  snow;  for  the  rest,  a  dismaying 
stillness  lay  about  the  house. 

To  Rupert,  to  Nance,  guarding  the  north  window,  to 
Simon  Foster,  this  silence  of  attack  seemed  heavier,  more  un- 
bearable, than  the  do-nothing  time  that  had  preceded  it. 
There  had  been  the  brief  battle-fury  in  the  courtyard,  the 
zest  of  getting  ready  for  the  siege;  and  now  there  was  only 
silence  and  the  falling  snow. 

And  out  of  doors  Goldstein  was  no  less  impatient.  He 
did  not  know  that  he  was  faced  by  a  garrison  so  slender;  for 
there  is  a  strength  about  a  house  that  has  shown  one  bold 
front  to  attack,  and  afterwards  gives  no  hint  of  the  numbers 
hidden  by  its  walls.  Already  two  were  dead,  and  two  badly 
wounded,  from  among  his  company  of  one-and-twenty ;  and 
the  rest  were  hungry,  body-sore,  and  in  evil  temper.  It  was 
no  time  to  force  an  entry.  Better  wait  till  daylight,  get  his 
men  out  of  gunshot,  and  find  food  for  them  somewhere  in 
the  well-stocked  farm-steadings. 

They  got  round  to  the  mistals  on  the  west  side  of  the 
house — moving  close  along  the  walls,  afraid  of  every  window 
that  might  hide  a  musket — and  found  Sir  Jasper's  well-tended 
cattle  mooing  softly  to  each  other  as  they  rattled  their  stall- 
chains.  The  warm,  lush  smell  of  the  byres  suggested  milk  to 
Goldstein,  and,  since  stronger  drink  seemed  out  of  reach,  he 
welcomed  any  liquor  that  might  take  the  sharpest  edge  of 
hunger  from  his  men.  He  bade  them  milk  the  cows;  and 
into  the  midst  of  this  tragic  happening  that  had  come  to 


288  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

Windyhough  there  intruded  a  frank,  diverting  comedy,  as  the 
way  of  life  is.  Not  one  of  them  had  milked  a  cow  before, 
or  guessed  that  Martha  had  been  busy  with  her  pail  already ; 
but  each  thought  it  a  simple  matter,  needing  no  more  than  a 
man's  touch  on  the  udders.  They  found  a  milking-stool  aban- 
doned long  ago  by  Martha  because  one  leg  was  unstable,  and 
one  by  one  they  tried  their  luck.  The  first  who  tried  was 
kicked  clean  off  the  stool ;  the  next  man  made  a  beginning  so 
foolish  and  unhandy  that  the  roan  cow  looked  back  at  him  in 
simple  wonderment;  and  Goldstein,  a  better  officer  than  his 
men  understood,  welcomed  the  laughter  and  uproar  that 
greeted  every  misguided  effort  to  fill  the  milking-pail.  They 
had  not  laughed  once  since  Derby,  these  men  who  were  get- 
ting out  of  hand. 

By  and  by  the  sport  palled  on  them;  and  Goldstein,  faced 
once  again  by  their  hunger  and  unrest,  found  all  his  senses 
curiously  alert.  From  the  laithe,  next  door  to  the  byres,  he 
heard  the  bleating  of  sheep  in-driven  yesterday  from  the  high 
lands  when  the  weather-wise  were  sure  that  snow  was  coming. 

"  There's  food  yonder,  lads,"  he  said  sharply.  "  Drink  can 
wait." 

He  opened  the  laithe  door,  stood  back  a  while  from  the 
steam  that  greeted  him — the  oily  heat  of  sheep  close  packed 
together.  The  moonlight  and  the  snow  filtered  in  together 
through  the  big,  open  doors  as  he  ran  forward,  caught  a  ewe 
by  the  neck,  and  dragged  her  out.  And  they  dispatched  her 
quickly ;  for  butchery  came  easy  to  their  hands. 

A  little  while  after,  as  Rupert  stood  at  his  post  by  the  win- 
dow overlooking  the  main  door — waiting  for  something  to 
happen,  as  of  old — he  heard  a  slow,  heavy  footfall  down  the 
corridor.  A  blurred  figure  of  a  man  stood  in  the  doorway — 
for  the  moon's  light  was  dim  and  snowy — and  the  master 
could  only  guess  from  the  square,  massive  bulk  who  was  this 
night  visitor. 

"  They've  lit  a  fire  on  the  west  side  o'  the  house,  master," 
came  Shackleton's  big  voice.  "  What  it  means  I  couldn't  tell 


THE  BRUNT  OF  IT  289 

ye,  but  I  saw  the  red  of  it  go  kitty-kelpy  fair  across  the  snow." 

Rupert  followed  him,  glad  already  of  the  relief  from  sentry- 
work.  Across  the  west  window — emptied  of  its  glass,  like 
all  the  others,  in  readiness  for  action — little,  pulsing  shafts  of 
crimson  were  playing  through  the  snow-flakes.  They  heard 
men's  voices,  confused  and  jarring;  and  the  red  glow 
deepened,  though  they  could  see  nothing  of  what  was  in  the 
doing. 

"We  couldn't  expect  'em,  like,  to  light  their  fire  within 
eye-shot,"  said  Shackleton,  with  his  unalterable  quiet;  "it 
would  mean  within  gun-shot,  as  we've  taught  'em.  But  I  own 
I'd  like  to  know  just  what  sort  o'  devilry  they're  planning. 
They  might  varry  weel  be  firing  the  house  over  our  heads." 

"  No,"  said  the  master.  "  There  are  only  stone  walls  on 
this  side,  Ben — five  foot  thick " 

"  Ay,  true.  But  they're  not  lads,  to  light  a  fire  just  for 
the  sake  o'  seeing  it  blaze." 

Outside,  close  under  shelter  of  the  house-wall,  Goldstein's 
men  had  carried  straw  from  the  laithe  where  it  was  stored, 
had  borrowed  wood  from  the  pile  of  timber  left  by  Simon 
Foster  at  the  courtyard  gate,  and  were  roasting  their  sheep 
as  speedily  as  might  be.  And  one  adventurous  spirit,  search- 
ing the  outhouses  with  a  patience  born  of  thirst,  had  found 
an  unbroached  ale-barrel.  The  return  to  good  cheer  loosened 
the  men's  tongues;  and  Goldstein  was  content  to  let  them 
have  their  way  until  this  better  mood  of  theirs  had  ripened. 

Within  doors,  Simon  Foster  had  heard  the  master  and 
Shackleton  talking  at  the  west  window,  had  joined  them,  had 
listened  till,  from  the  babel  of  many  voices,  he  heard  what 
was  in  the  doing. 

"  They're  cooking  their  supper,"  he  said.  "  I  should  know 
the  way  of  it;  for  we  went  stark  and  wet  through  the  '15, 
and  cooked  many  a  fat  sheep,  we  did,  just  like  these  un- 
chancy wastrels." 

Into  their  midst,  none  knowing  how  he  had  drifted  there, 
came  Nat  the  shepherd,  pipe  in  hand — a  figure  so  old,  so 


290  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

palsied,  that  stronger  men  were  moved  by  a  pity  deep  as  hu- 
man courage  and  human  suffering. 

"Eh,  now,  I  mind  th'  '15!"  he  cackled.  "I  rode  out  wi' 
Sir  Jasper — he  was  a  lad  i'  those  days,  and  me  a  mettlesome 
man  of  fifty — and  there  were  bonnie  doings.  It  was  all  about 
some  business  o'  setting  King  Jamie  on  his  throne — and  there 
were  bonnie  doings.  The  gentry  riding  in,  and  the  gentry 
riding  out — and  the  bonnie  ladies'  een  bo-peeping  at  them  as 
they  went;  and  all  the  brave,  open  road  ahead  of  us.  We 
shall  see  no  such  times  again,  I  warrant." 

His  head  drooped  suddenly.  He  fumbled  for  his  tinder- 
box,  because  in  his  enthusiasm  for  days  gone  by  he  had  let 
his  pipe  go  out.  He  was  a  figure  pitiful  beyond  belief — the 
last,  blown  autumn  leaf,  it  seemed,  clinging  to  the  wind- 
blown tree  of  Stuart  loyalty.  And  the  master,  in  spite  of  the 
hazard  out  of  doors,  halted  for  a  word  of  compassion. 

"  You  did  well,  Nat,"  he  said  gently.  "  Tell  us  how  the 
'15  went." 

Nat  was  silent  for  a  while.  Across  his  dotage,  across  the 
memories  that  were  food  and  drink  to  him,  he  returned  to 
present-day  affairs.  He  looked  closely  at  the  master,  and 
nodded  sagely. 

"  You're  varry  like  your  father,  Maister  Rupert.  It  seems 
a  pity,  like,  you  should  be  left  here,  to  die  like  a  ratten  in  a 
trap,  when  you  might  have  been  crying  Tally-Ho  along  the 
Lunnon  road." 

The  master  winced.  "  They've  not  trapped  us  yet,"  he 
said  quietly.  "  Get  down  to  the  inglenook,  Nat,  and  smoke 
your  pipe." 

"  Hark ! "  said  Shackleton,  his  ear  turned  to  the  window. 
They're  getting  merry  out  yonder.  Begom!  they  must  have 
found  liquor  somewhere,  to  go  singing  out  o'  doors  on  a 
stark  night  like  this." 

A  full-throated  chorus  was  sounding  now  across  the  snow 
and  the  dancing  red  of  the  fire.  The  words  were  German,  but 
the  lilt  of  them  was  not  to  be  mistaken. 


THE  BRUNT  OF  IT  291 

"  I  wish  I'd  known  they  were  coming,"  said  Simon  Fos- 
ter ruefully.  "  There  was  a  barrel  of  ale,  master,  left  i'  the 
shippon  because  I  was  too  lazy  to  get  it  indoors  yesterday. 
And  they've  broached  it,  they  have ;  and  it's  good  liquor  going 
down  furrin  throats.  The  waste  o'  decent  stuff ! " 

Rupert  listened  to  the  uproar  out  of  doors.  He  had  a  quick 
imagination,  and  he  was  picturing  an  attack  by  drunken 
soldiery.  These  men  of  Goldstein's,  he  had  gathered,  were 
not  lambs  when  sober.  He  thought  of  Nance,  of  his  mother 
— thought  of  the  virile,  tender  love  that  men  of  his  Faith  give 
their  women — and  the  soul  of  him  caught  fire. 

"  Shackleton,"  he  said  sharply,  "  keep  your  post.  Simon, 
get  to  yours.  And,  by  the  God  who  made  me,  I'll  shoot  you 
if  you  sleep  to-night !  " 

He  did  not  see  Nance,  nor  think  of  her,  as  he  went  to  his 
own  station  overlooking  the  main  door.  But  Nance  heard 
his  tread,  and  glanced  up,  and  found  the  night  emptier  be- 
cause he  did  not  know  that  she  was  near.  For  men  and 
women  see  life  from  opposite  sides  of  the  same  hill,  and 
always  will  until  hereafter  they  find  themselves  standing  on 
the  same  free,  windy  summit. 

He  went  to  his  post,  and  the  long  night  settled  down. 
And  nothing  happened,  as  of  old.  From  sheer  need  of  occu- 
pation, he  fell  to  watching  the  snow  fall  thick  and  thicker 
out  of  doors — tried  to  count  the  flakes — and  found  the  dumb, 
unceasing  crowd  of  them  enticing  him  to  sleep.  And  then 
he  sought  a  better  remedy.  He  remembered  the  man  he  had 
hit  through  the  opening  of  the  courtyard  gate — the  others 
who  had  fallen  to  his  musket ;  and  he  found  the  odd  zest,  the 
call  of  future  peril,  which  spring  from  action.  And  to  Ru- 
pert the  call  came  with  a  peculiar  sharpness ;  for  he  had  been 
accounted  slight,  a  scholar,  and  he  was  here  in  the  thick  of 
the  siege  perilous,  with  a  deed  or  two  standing  already  to 
his  credit. 

He  was  used  from  of  old  to  sleeplessness,  and  as  the  night 
wore  on  his  spirits  rose  to  a  surprising  gaiety  and  sense  of 


292  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

well-being.  His  garrison  was  small;  but  he  was  master  of 
his  own  house,  at  long  last,  and  he  had  powder  and  ball  on 
the  window-sill  in  front  of  him.  Whether  he  lived  or  died 
mattered  little;  but  it  was  of  prime  importance  that  he  kept 
this  house  of  Windyhough  to  the  last  edge  of  his  strength. 

Out  of  doors,  Captain  Goldstein  had  given  up  all  thoughts 
of  prosecuting  the  siege  until  the  dawn.  He  had  detached 
six  men  from  the  ale-barrel  to  play  sentry  round  the  house, 
and  had  got  the  rest  into  shelter  of  the  outhouses  a  half-hour 
later.  They  were  bone-tired,  all  of  them ;  they  were  well  fed 
and  full  of  ale;  and  the  beds  they  made  for  themselves,  of 
hay  and  straw,  seemed  soft  as  eider-down.  Only  Goldstein 
kept  awake.  He  was  as  weary  as  any  of  them ;  but  he  had  a 
single  purpose,  as  Rupert  had.  The  Prince  was  in  the  house 
here ;  dead  or  alive,  he  stood  for  thirty  thousand  pounds ;  and 
Goldstein  kept  himself  awake  by  picturing  the  life  he  would 
enjoy,  out  yonder  in  the  Fatherland,  when  he  had  claimed 
his  share  of  the  reward.  He  would  squander  a  thousand  of 
the  thirty  among  his  men — more  or  less,  according  to  their 
temper — and  would  afterwards  retire  from  service.  For 
Goldstein,  it  would  seem,  did  not  share  the  Catholic  belief 
that,  till  he  dies,  no  man  is  privileged  to  retire  from  soldiery. 

He  kept  awake;  and  by  and  by  he  could  not  rest  under 
shelter  of  the  byre  that  kept  him  weather-tight.  He  went  out 
into  the  snowy  moonlight,  intent  on  seeing  that  his  sentries 
were  leaving  no  way  open  for  the  Prince  to  escape;  and  he 
forgot  that  there  were  windows  looking  out  at  him. 

Rupert  was  standing  at  his  post  meanwhile,  finding  his  high 
dreams  useful  now  that  the  call  to  arms  had  come.  He  was 
serving  for  faith's  sake,  and  for  loyalty's;  and  service  of 
that  sort  is  apt  to  breed  an  odd  content. 

Across  his  sense  of  well-being  a  gunshot  sounded — quick, 
and  loud,  and  urgent,  in  this  house  of  silence.  He  took  up 
a  musket,  and  peered  through  the  snow-storm  out  of  doors, 
expecting  an  assault.  And  again  nothing  happened,  for  a 


THE  BRUNT  OF  IT  293 

little  while.  And  then  he  heard  a  woman's  step  along  the 
corridor,  and  Nance's  voice,  low  and  piteous. 

"  Rupert,  where  are  you  ?    I — I  need  you." 

It  was  then  Rupert  learned  afresh,  with  a  vivid  pain  that 
seemed  unbearable,  how  deep  his  love  had  gone  during  the 
past,  silent  years.  She  was  in  trouble,  and  needed  him.  He 
ran  to  her  side,  but  could  not  outstrip  the  fears  that  crowded 
round  him.  There  was  the  gunshot — and  she  was  hurt; 
Nance,  whom  he  had  longed  to  keep  from  the  least  touch  of 
harm,  was  hurt. 

He  put  his  arms  about  her.  His  eyes  had  grown  used  long 
since  to  the  dim  moonlight  of  the  room,  and  they  sought  with 
feverish  concern  for  traces  of  her  wound. 

"Where  are  you  hurt,  Nance?"  he  asked. 

And  "  Here,"  she  said,  with  a  wan  little  smile — "  here, 
right  through  my  heart,  Rupert.  I — I  have  killed  a  man,  I 
think,  just  now." 

So  then,  through  the  confusion  of  his  thoughts,  he  remem- 
bered that  the  gun-shot  had  sounded  from  within  doors,  and 
his  heart  grew  lighter.  "  Why,  then,  there's  one  less  of  the 
enemy.  You  should  be  proud,  my  dear." 

"  Proud  ?  "  Her  voice  was  still  and  hushed.  "  You  were 
right  when  you  said  that  this  was  man's  work.  I  was  watch- 
ing at  the  north  window — and  the  time  seemed  long  in  passing 
— and  then  I  saw  a  man's  thick-set  body  coming  through  the 
snow.  And  I — I  forgot  I  was  a  woman,  and  took  aim,  and 
he  fell,  Rupert,  so  suddenly,  with  his  arms  thrown  up,  and 
lay  there  in  the  snow." 

"  One  less,"  said  the  master,  with  a  return  to  dogged  cheer- 
fulness. "  We  must  get  to  our  posts  again." 

Nance  looked  at  him.  Now  that  he  knew  her  safe,  he  was 
again  the  soldier,  forgetting  the  way  of  his  heart  and  thinking 
only  of  the  need  for  action.  And  her  pride  took  fire,  as  she 
went  back  to  her  window,  resolute  to  show  him  that  she  could 
be  soldierly  as  he.  For  a  while  she  dared  not  look  out,  re- 


294  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

membering  what  lay  yonder;  and  then  she  chided  herself  for 
cowardice,  and  peeped  through  the  moonlight. 

The  huddled  bulk  of  a  man  that  had  lain  prone  in  the  snow 
was  moving  now — slowly,  and  on  hands  and  knees — and  was 
creeping  out  of  range.  And  once  again  Nance  knew  herself 
a  woman;  for  she  was  glad,  with  a  joy  instant  and 
vehement,  that  she  had  a  wounded  man  only  on  her  con- 
science. 

Goldstein,  when  the  shot  hit  him  at  close  range,  had  thought 
the  end  had  come.  He  was  wearied  out  by  long  riding  over 
broken  roads,  by  need  of  sleep;  and  the  flare  of  the  gunshot, 
the  sudden  hell-fire  in  his  left  thigh,  had  knocked  his  hardi- 
ness to  bits.  But  by  and  by,  when  he  found  leisure  to  pick 
his  courage  up,  and  knew  that  his  wound  went  only  deep 
through  the  fleshy  part  of  his  thigh,  he  made  his  way  back 
to  the  stables,  and  roused  one  of  his  sleeping  troopers;  and, 
between  them,  they  staunched  the  bleeding,  and  dressed  the 
wound  with  odds  and  ends  torn  from  the  linings  of  their 
coats.  And  then  Goldstein  lay  back  on  the  straw  and  slept 
like  a  little  child,  and  dreamed  that  he  was  home  again  in 
Hanover,  in  the  days  before  he  sought  advancement  in  a 
foreign  country. 

At  Will  Underwood's  house,  meanwhile,  the  laggard  gentry 
of  Lancashire  were  sitting  over  their  wine,  and  were  cursing 
this  snowfall  that  would  not  let  them  hunt  to-morrow.  And 
they  were  troubled,  all  of  them;  for  they  knew  that  better 
men  were  facing  hardship  on  the  London  road,  while  they, 
from  faults  of  sloth  or  caution,  were  sheltered  by  house- 
walls.  They  were  men,  after  all,  under  the  infirmities  that 
hindered  them ;  and  ease,  for  its  own  sake,  never  yet  appealed 
for  long  to  hearts  built  for  weather  and  adventure.  They 
needed  hard  exercise,  to  blunt  the  edge  of  conscience ;  and  they 
were  fretful,  ready  to  pick  quarrels  among  themselves,  be- 
cause they  knew  that  the  morrow  must  be  spent  in  idleness. 

"  We  can  always  drink,  gentlemen,"  said  Underwood,  push- 
ing the  bottle  round.  "  That  is  one  consolation." 


THE  BRUNT  OF  IT  295 

"Likely  to  be  our  only  one,"  snapped  his  neighbour,  "if 
this  cursed  snow  stays  on  the  ground.  And  we  can  drink 
half  the  night,  Underwood — but  not  all  the  day  as  well.  You 
can  have  too  much  of  a  pastime." 

"What  are  they  doing  London  way,  I  wonder?"  put  in 
a  smooth-faced  youngster,  gibing  at  himself  and  all  of  them. 
"  They'll  have  bonnie  roads  to  travel." 

Underwood  remembered  a  day,  not  long  ago,  when  he  had 
met  Nance  Demaine  on  the  moor,  recalled  the  look  in  her  face 
as  she  gave  him  her  kerchief  and  bade  him  use  it  as  a 
flag  of  truce  "  when  her  men  returned  from  the  crowning." 
He  got  to  his  feet  and  reached  across  the  table  with  clenched 
fist.  "  How  dare  you !  "  he  said  savagely.  "  We're  all  wear- 
ing the  white  feather,  and  you  twit  us  with  it,  you  young 
fool." 

They  drew  back  from  him  for  a  moment.  His  pain  and  fury 
were  so  evident,  his  easy-going  temper  so  completely  broken, 
that  they  thought  him  drunk,  when  in  reality  he  was  vastly 
sober — so  sobered  that  he  saw  himself  a  creature  pitiful  and 
time-serving. 

And  the  youngster,  taking  fire  in  turn,  said  that  he  would 
be  called  fool  by  no  man  without  asking  satisfaction;  and 
swords  would  have  been  out  had  not  Underwood's  neighbour, 
a  jolly,  red-faced  squire  who  liked  to  drink  his  wine  in  peace, 
taken  the  situation  at  a  canter. 

"  For  shame,  Underwood ! "  he  said,  laying  a  sharp  hand 
on  his  shoulder.  "  It  would  be  no  duel — it  would  be  another 
slaughter  of  the  innocents.  To  fight  a  boy  like  that " 

"  Not  very  innocent,  by  your  leave,"  broke  in  the  young- 
ster, with  such  palpable  affront,  such  pride  in  his  budding 
vices,  that  the  old  squire  laughed  outrageously. 

"  By  gad !  not  very  innocent !  "  he  echoed,  with  another 
rolling,  laugh.  "  See  the  cockrel  standing  up  to  crow — all  red 
about  the  gills,  gentlemen.  Let's  fill  our  glasses  and  drink  to 
his  growing  comb." 

So  it  ended  in  frank  laughter  as  they  rose  and  drowned 


296  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

the  quarrel  in  a  roaring  toast.  But  Underwood,  though  he 
joined  them,  carried  no  good  look.  He  was  still  thinking  of 
Nance  Demaine,  of  the  white  badge  she  had  offered  him. 
And  an  uneasy  silence  settled  on  them  all. 

"  I  heard  a  queer  tale  to-day,  Will,"  said  the  red-faced 
squire  presently,  by  way  of  lifting  the  talk  into  easier  chan- 
nels. "  Old  Luke  Faweather  met  me  on  the  road.  He  was 
coming  home  from  market  on  that  fat,  piebald  horse  of  his, 
and  he  pulled  up.  He'd  ridden  wide  of  Windyhough,  it 
seemed,  and  swore  that  he  heard  gunshots  through  the  snow 
— rattle  after  rattle,  he  said,  as  if  half  the  moorside  were  let- 
ting off  their  guns." 

"  Oh,  Luke ! "  laughed  Underwood,  rousing  himself  from 
his  evil  mood.  "  We  know  his  market-days.  He  hears  and 
sees  queer  things  at  home-coming — carries  the  bottle  in  his 
head,  as  the  saying  goes." 

"Aye,  but  he  seemed  his  own  man  to-day.  The  horse 
wasn't  guiding  him  for  once.  His  wife  had  been  at  him, 
maybe.  He  said  they  were  not  firing  fowling-pieces,  but 
something  '  lustier  in  the  bellows/  and  I  could  make  neither 
head  nor  tail  of  it.  Who  at  Windyhough  would  be  playing 
Guy  Fawkes'  foolery  ?  " 

"  Rupert,  likely,"  growled  Underwood,  some  old  jealousy 
aroused.  "  He  was  all  for  joining  this  precious  Rising,  till 
he  found  they  had  no  use  for  dreamers.  He  was  left  to  play 
nursery  games  with  the  women,  and  grew  tired  of  it,  and 
rummaged  through  the  house  till  he  found  the  muskets  stored 
there." 

"That's  all  very  well,  Underwood;  but  the  lad  would  not 
go  firing  into  the  snow  just  for  the  frolic  of  it." 

"  Wouldn't  he  ?  I  know  Rupert.  He  could  dream  a  whole 
regiment  of  enemies  into  the  courtyard  there  if  his  mind  were 
set  that  way,  and  go  on  firing  at  the  ghosts." 

"  Well,  he's  past  my  understanding/'  laughed  the  squire. 
"  Perhaps  you're  right." 

"  Oh,  I  can  see  him,"  Underwood  went  on,  old  antipathy 


THE  BRUNT  OF  IT  297 

gaining  on  him.  "  He's  ambitious.  He  would  like  to  be  the 
martyred  Charles,  and  the  Prince,  and  every  cursed  Stuart  of 
them  all.  It's  laughable  to  think  how  much  our  scholar 
dares — in  fancy." 

A  low  growl  went  round  the  table,  and  Underwood  knew 
that  he  had  gone  too  far. 

"  There'll  be  a  duel  in  earnest  soon,"  sputtered  the  red- 
faced  squire  who  loved  his  ease.  "  You  were  never  one  of 
us,  Will  Underwood — and  you  think  we're  birds  of  a  feather 
because  we  stayed  at  home  with  you;  but  I  tell  you  plainly, 
I'll  listen  to  no  slur  on  a  Stuart." 

"  Oh,  I  spoke  hastily." 

"  You  did— and  you'll  recant !  " 

Underwood,  tired  of  himself  and  all  things,  gathered  some- 
thing of  his  old,  easy  manner.  He  filled  his  glass  afresh 
and  lifted  it,  and  passed  it  with  finished  bravado  over  the  jug 
in  front  of  him.  "  To  the  King  across  the  water,  gentle- 
men !  "  he  said  smoothly. 

One  of  the  company  had  gone  to  the  window,  and  turned 
now  from  looking  out  on  the  snow  that  never  ceased.  "  All 
this  does  not  help  us  much,"  he  grumbled.  "  We  can  talk  and 
talk,  and  drink  pretty-boy  toasts  till  we're  under  the  table; 
but  what  of  to-morrow?  There'll  be  nothing  doing  out  of 
doors." 

"  Wait,"  said  Will  Underwood.  "  When  the  snow's  tired 
of  falling  there'll  be  frost ;  and  the  wild  duck — say,  to-morrow 
night — will  be  coming  over  Priest's  Tarn,  up  above  Windy- 
hough." 

"  Gad !  that  is  a  happy  notion,  Will ! "  assented  the  old 
squire.  "  It's  years  since  I  had  a  shot  at  duck  in  the  moon- 
light— and  rare  sport  it  is.  Come,  we've  drunk  to  the  Stuart, 
and  to  every  lady  we  could  call  to  mind.  Let's  fill  afresh, 
and  drink  to  the  wild  duck  flying  high." 

Will  was  glad  when  the  night's  revelry  ended  and  he  found 
himself  alone  in  the  dining-hall.  He  had  drunk  level  with' 
his  friends,  and  the  wine  had  left  him  untouched.  He  had 


298  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

diced  with  them,  sung  hunting-songs,  and  no  spark  of  gaiety 
had  reached  him.  For,  day  by  day  since  he  lost  Nance  once 
for  all,  he  had  been  learning  how  deep  his  love  had  gone. 
Looking  back  to-night,  as  he  sat  at  the  littered  table,  with  its 
empty  bottles  and  its  wine-stains,  he  could  not  understand  how 
he  had  come  to  be  absent  from  the  Loyal  Meet.  The  meaner 
side  of  him  was  hidden  away.  He  was  a  man  carrying  a  love 
bigger  than  himself — a  love  that  would  last  him  till  he  died; 
and  he  had  not  known  as  much  until  these  days  of  loss  and 
misery  came. 

At  Windyhough  the  night  wore  slowly  on.  The  besiegers, 
since  Goldstein  crept  into  shelter,  spent  and  disabled,  were 
less  disposed  than  ever  to  risk  attack  before  the  daylight  gave 
them  clearer  knowledge  of  this  house  that  seemed  to  have  a 
musket  behind  every  window.  The  besieged  listened  to  the 
silence — the  silence  of  expectancy,  which  grows  so  deep  and 
burdensome  that  a  man  can  almost  hear  it.  From  time  to  time 
Rupert  went  the  round  of  the  corridor  to  see  that  his  garri- 
son was  wakeful,  and  about  the  middle  of  the  night  he  found 
Ben  Shackleton  nodding  at  his  post,  and  gripped  him  by  the 
shoulder. 

"  What's  to  do  ?  "  growled  the  farmer,  shaking  his  big  bulk 
like  a  dog  whistled  out  of  the  water.  "  I  was  dreaming,  mas- 
ter, and  as  nigh  heaven  as  a  man  ever  gets  i'  this  life.  I'd 
have  swopped  farming  and  wife  and  all  for  one  more  blessed 
hour  of  it." 

Rupert  laughed.  He  was  learning  much  of  human  to-and- 
froing  during  these  last  days,  and  his  first  hot  contempt  of 
this  sleeping  sentry  yielded  to  a  broader  sympathy.  "  What 
was  your  dream,  Ben  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Nay,  naught  so  much — only  that  I  went  to  Lancashire 
Market  and  had  a  pig  to  sell.  She  wasn't  worth  what  I  was 
asking,  not  by  th'  half.  And  t'other  chap  he  wrangled,  and  I 
wrangled ;  then,  blamed  if  the  fool  didn't  gi'e  me  what  I  asked, 
and  we  were  just  wetting  our  whistles  on  th'  bargain  when 
ye  wakened  me.  It  was  a  terrible  good  dream,  master." 


THE  BRUNT  OF  IT  299 

"Well,  stay  awake  to  remember  it,  Ben.  These  folk  out- 
side are  too  quiet  for  my  liking." 

Ben's  face  was  impassive  as  ever,  but  his  glance  measured 
Rupert  from  heel  to  crown.  He  saw  a  slim-bodied  man, 
whose  face  was  lit  with  a  keen  and  happy  fire;  he  saw,  too, 
that  the  anxiety  which  had  dulled  even  Lady  Royd's  eyes — 
the  toast  of  the  county  still,  though  the  eyes  were  middle-aged 
— had  only  strengthened  the  light  of  authority  and  strength 
which  played  about  his  face.  Ben  Shackleton  was  slow  to 
awake  from  his  dream  of  pig-selling,  but  he  was  aware  of 
some  settled  gladness — gladness  that  Sir  Jasper  had  an  heir  at 
last. 

"  Aye,"  he  said,  shaking  himself  afresh.  "  It's  the  honest 
dog  that  barks — the  biting  sort  lie  quiet.  Well,  then? 
What's  afoot,  maister  ?  I'm  here  to  take  my  orders,  I  reckon, 
as  Blacksmith  Dan  said  when  parson  asked  him  if  he'd  have 
Mary  o'  Ghyll  to  be  his  wedded  wife." 

The  man's  lazy  tongue,  his  steadfastness,  proved  long  ago, 
brought  an  odd  peace  to  Rupert.  There  were  snow  and  a 
bitter  wind  outside,  and  an  enemy  that  only  by  convention 
could  be  named  civilised;  but  within  there  was  a  little  garri- 
son whose  members,  on  the  great,  main  issues,  were  not  di- 
vided. 

"  Yes.  You  are  here  to  obey  orders,"  said  the  other 
sharply.  "  Keep  awake  at  your  post,  Ben." 

Shackleton  saluted  gravely.  "  I'll  do  it  for  ye,  master, 
though  I  had  a  busyish  day  before  I  rade  hither-till,  getting 
ewes  down  from  the  high  lands — and  sleep  is  sticking  round 
me  fair  like  a  bramble-thicket." 

"  Well,  you've  to  win  through  the  thicket,  Ben,"  said  the 
master,  and  passed  on. 

He  crossed  to  the  north  window,  saw  Nance  standing  there, 
her  trim  head  lifted  to  the  moonlight  as  she  peered  over  the 
window-sill;  and  for  a  moment  he  forgot  that  they  were  in 
the  thick  of  the  siege  perilous. 

"  My     dear,"     he     said,     with     the     tenderest     simplicity, 


300  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"you'd  best  get  to  bed.  You  have  done  enough  for  one 
night." 

She  did  not  turn  her  head,  and  her  voice  was  cold.  "  Have 
you  done  enough,  Rupert  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  used  to  lack  of  sleep,  and  you  are  not." 

She  thought  of  the  wakeful  nights  that  had  been  torture 
to  her  since  Will  Underwood  returned.  First  love,  built  of 
the  stuff  she  had  given  him,  dies  hard;  for  it  is  the  weak 
things  that  find  easy  death-beds,  because  their  grip  on  this 
life  and  hereafter  is  languid  and  of  slight  account. 

"  I  can  handle  a  musket,"  she  said,  turning  with  sharp  de- 
fiance ;  "  and  our  defence  is — is  not  strong." 

In  the  silence,  across  the  dull  moonlight  of  the  corridor, 
they  measured  each  other  with  a  long  glance.  And  Nance, 
in  this  mood  of  hers,  was  passionately  at  war  with  him.  Un- 
til to-day  he  had  been  her  bond-slave,  gay  when  she  willed 
it,  foolish  and  out  of  heart  when  she  flouted  him.  And  now 
her  reign  was  ended.  Rupert  did  not  know  it  yet ;  but  Nance, 
with  the  intuition  that  seems  to  do  women  little  service,  was 
aware  that  she  had  lost  for  the  time  being  a  cavalier  and 
found  instead  a  master. 

"  You  can  handle  a  musket,"  he  said  dryly.  "  Good-night, 
Nance — and  remember  to  keep  your  head  low  above  the  sill. 
The  men  outside  can  aim  straight,  too." 

He  went  back  to  his  post  at  the  window  overlooking  the 
main  door.  And  he  began  to  think  of  Nance,  of  the  brown, 
shapely  head  that  had  been  magic  to  him — the  head  that  was 
in  danger  of  a  bullet  from  one  of  Goldstein's  men.  Yester- 
day he  would  have  gone  to  her  side,  to  ease  the  fierce  pain  for 
her  safety;  his  feet  were  willing,  and  he  wondered  that  in- 
stead he  stood  obstinately  at  his  post,  intent  on  musketry  and 
the  welfare  of  his  house. 

Nance  waited  for  his  return.  She  had  had  him  at  call,  until 
peril  came  and  the  attack  in  front.  She  was  sure  that  he 
would  come  back,  anxious  as  of  old  lest  the  world  should 
use  her  ill.  But  he  did  not  come ;  and  she  felt  oddly  desolate, 


THE  BRUNT  OF  IT  301 

because  he  was  so  resolute  and  far  away  from  her.  Then 
she,  too,  turned  to  the  moonlit  window  and  to  soldiery. 

And  the  night  crept  on  to  dawn.  From  the  fowl-yard  at 
the  rear  of  the  house  a  cock  began  to  crow  half-heartedly. 
Nance,  from  her  window,  and  the  master  of  the  house  from 
his,  looked  out  on  a  grey  whirl  of  snow,  reddened  by  the  fin- 
gers of  a  frosty  dawn. 

And  nothing  happened,  as  the  way  had  been  these  days  at 
Windyhough. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   NEED  OF   SLEEP 

GOLDSTEIN,  when  he  awoke  the  next  morning  to  find  himself 
laid  on  the  stable  straw  with  a  dull  ache  in  his  left  thigh,  re- 
membered the  business  that  had  brought  him  here,  and  tried 
to  rise.  He  found  himself  sick  and  useless,  and,  getting  to 
his  feet  by  sheer  hardihood,  fell  back  again  with  a  black  mist 
about  his  eyes.  Little  by  little  he  began  to  accept  the  situa- 
tion as  it  stood,  and  he  waited  till  his  head  was  fairly  clear 
again.  He  did  not  propose,  so  long  as  he  had  breath,  to 
abandon  his  project  of  securing  the  blood-money  that  would 
secure  him  a  life  of  ease  in  the  Fatherland;  and  his  troopers, 
when  he  gave  his  commands  for  the  day  with  brisk  precision, 
liked  him  better,  seeing  his  pluck,  than  they  had  done  since 
the  beginning  of  this  ill-starred  errand.  He  reminded  them, 
moreover,  of  their  slain,  lying  here  and  there  about  the  court- 
yard ;  and  revenge  is  a  fire  that  kindles  men's  courage  and 
hard  obstinacy. 

A  little  while  later,  as  Rupert  peered  through  the  dawn- 
red  snow  of  the  courtyard,  he  heard  a  gruff  voice  from  below. 
It  was  the  sergeant's  who  was  Goldstein's  deputy. 

"  I  want  to  come  within  gunshot  of  your  window,"  he  said. 

"  Every  man  to  his  taste,"  laughed  Rupert,  glad  of  any 
respite  from  his  vigil.  "  If  you  need  lead,  I  can  entertain 
you." 

"  Under  truce." 

"  There  can  be  no  truce.  I  hold  my  house  for  the  King, 
and  mean  to  keep  it." 

"  But  listen.  Give  us  the  Pretender — we  know  as  well  as 
you  do  that  he's  hiding  here — and  the  rest  of  you  can  pass 
out  in  safety." 

309 


THE  NEED  OF  SLEEP  303 

"The  Prince  is  here  you  think?  Why,  then,  we  guard 
him,  sir — what  else  is  possible  ?  " 

"You'll  not  give  five  minutes'  truce?  Captain  Goldstein 
is  wounded " 

"  I'm  devilish  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Rupert,  with  the  gaiety 
that  would  not  be  denied." 

"  He  sends  me  to  talk  over  this  little  matter  of  the  siege." 

"Then  step  out  into  the  open — under  truce — and  let  me 
see  your  face." 

Some  quality  of  honour  in  Rupert's  voice  reached  the  ser- 
geant. As  he  put  it  to  himself,  he  knew  the  man  for  a 
fool  who  kept  his  word.  The  snow  had  all  but  ceased  for  a 
while,  and  in  the  keen  dawnlight  Goldstein's  man  looked  up 
and  saw  Rupert's  grave,  clean-cut  face  at  the  window  over- 
head. 

"  Your  garrison  is  weak.     We  know  it,"  said  the  sergeant. 

"  You  lie.  Our  garrison  is  strong,"  Rupert  answered 
bluntly. 

"How  strong?"  put  in  the  other,  trying  clumsily  to  catch 
him  unawares. 

"  Force  your  way  in  and  learn." 

"  But  surely  we  can  drive  a  bargain  ?  There's  a  price  on 
the  Pretender's  head — a  trifle  of  thirty  thousand  pounds — 
and  you  can  share  it  with  us,  if  you  will." 

A  sudden  loathing  ;came  to  Rupert  as  he  listened  to  the 
man's  thick,  guttural  persuasiveness.  These  hired  soldiery 
of  the  enemy  seemed  to  have  only  two  views  of  a  man — that 
he  could  be  bullied  or  be  bought. 

"  Go  back  to  Captain  Goldstein,"  he  said.  "  Tell  him  that 
we're  strong  to  stand  a  siege,  and  that — we  are  gentlemen  of 
Lancashire  who  hold  the  house." 

The  sergeant  glanced  narrowly  at  the  face  above,  and  a  sus- 
picion took  sudden  hold  of  him.  This  man  with  the  disdain- 
ful, easy  air  might  be  the  Prince  himself.  He  remembered 
the  condition  "  dead  or  alive  "  attached  to  the  blood-money, 
lifted  his  carbine,  and  fired  point  blank.  The  ball  went  wide 


304  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

a  little ;  but  for  a  moment  Rupert  thought  that  he  was  hit,  as 
the  splintered  masonry  cut  across  his  forehead.  Then  he 
stooped,  picked  up  a  musket,  and  took  flying  aim  at  the  man 
below — without  avail,  as  he  thought.  It  would  have  cheered 
him  to  see  the  sergeant  limp  round  the  corner  of  the  house 
toward  the  stables. 

"  Well  ? "  asked  Goldstein,  cursing  the  pain  that  touched 
him  as  he  moved  quickly  round.  "  Did  the  young  rebel  come 
to  terms?" 

"  He  came  to  the  butt-end  of  a  musket  against  his  shoulder, 
and  the  bullet  grazed  my  knee.  I  shall  limp  for  days  to 
come." 

"  Then  limp,  you  fool !  What  is  a  grazed  knee  with  the 
Pretender  indoors  yonder " 

"  I've  seen  the  Pretender,"  said  the  other,  getting  out  his 
pipe  and  filling  it.  "  The  young  rebel,  as  you  call  him — the 
man  who  pretends  to  be  Sir  Jasper's  son — is  Charlie  Stuart. 
Face,  and  big,  careless  air,  and  belief  that  truce  means  truce 
in  wartime — he's  Charlie  to  the  life,  the  Charlie  who  got  as 
far  as  Derby  and  then,  with  all  before  him,  went  back  again." 

Goldstein,  with  nothing  to  do  except  nurse  his  wound,  had 
been  thinking  much  the  same,  had  been  reckoning  up,  too, 
the  chances  of  this  enterprise. 

"  They're  weak  in  numbers,"  he  said  by  and  by. 

"  I'm  not  so  sure.  They're  quick  enough  to  fire  from  all 
four  sides  of  the  house." 

"  Yes,  but  the  Stuart  whelp  would  have  led  a  sortie  before 
this  if  they'd  been  strong." 

"  True,"  growled  the  sergeant,  old  at  campaigning.  "  How 
long  shall  we  give  them,  Captain  ?  " 

"  A  day  or  two.  See  to  the  sentries,  keep  out  of  fire,  and 
we'll  see  what  the  waiting-time  will  do  for  them.  It's  a  devil's 
game,  waiting  for  action  that  never  comes — we  learned  that, 
Randolph,  in  the  old  Flanders  days." 

"Aye,  we  learned  fear,"  said  the  sergeant,  harking  back 
to  some  lonely  enterprises  that  he  had  shared  with  Goldstein. 


THE  NEED  OF  SLEEP  305 

Within-doors  Rupert  kept  his  post.  The  brief  excitement 
of  his  skirmish  with  the  sergeant  was  gone.  His  fancy, 
always  active,  was  racing  now.  He  pictured,  with  a  minute- 
ness painful  in  its  vividness,  the  shrift  his  women-folk  would 
meet  at  the  hands  of  the  enemy  without.  Men  who  could 
not  honour  a  truce  of  their  own  asking  differed  little  from  the 
brutes.  And  he  was  almost  single-handed  here,  the  master 
of  a  garrison  so  small  that  it  was  laughable. 

The  snow,  after  an  hour  or  so,  began  to  fall  again.  And 
round  about  the  house  there  was  a  silence  that  could  be  felt 
Those  who  have  played  sentry,  hoping  constantly  for  the  re- 
lief of  action,  know  the  stealthy,  evil  fears  that  creep  into  a 
man's  mind,  know  the  crude,  imminent  temptation  that  sleep 
offers  them,  know  the  persuasive  devil  at  their  elbow  who 
asks  them  why  they  take  this  trouble  for  a  cause  lost  already. 

All  that  day  there  was  silence  and  the  falling  snow.  And 
all  night  there  was  silence,  broken  only  by  a  little  wind  that 
sobbed  about  the  house ;  and  Goldstein  and  the  sergeant,  nurs- 
ing their  wounds  in  the  stable,  could  have  told  Rupert  every 
symptom  of  the  malady  from  which  he  suffered.  They  had 
gone  through  it  years  ago. 

Lady  Royd,  for  her  part,  showed  bright  against  the  dull 
Canvas  of  the  siege.  She  discovered,  in  her  own  haphazard 
way,  that  years  of  communion  with  Sir  Jasper  had  taught  her 
courage  when  the  pinch  of  danger  came.  She  still  kept  her 
pampered  spaniel  under  her  arm ;  but,  in  between  the  sleep  she 
snatched  fitfully,  she  moved  about  the  house  as  the  mistress 
and  great  lady.  She  kept  up  the  flagging  spirits  of  the 
women-servants,  saw  that  the  men  had  food  and  wine  to  keep 
their  strength  alive.  And,  now  and  then,  she  stole  into  the 
room  overlooking  the  main  door,  and  stood  watching  her  son 
— bone  of  her  bone — keep  steady  at  his  post.  And  after- 
wards she  would  withdraw,  a  happiness  like  starshine  going 
with  her  because  the  heir,  despite  her  weak  handling  of  his 
destiny,  was  after  all  a  man. 

The  next  day  broke  with  keen  frost  and  a  red  sun  that 


306  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

forced  its  way  through  the  last  cloudbanks  of  the  snow.  And 
the  sergeant  asked  Goldstein  for  his  orders. 

"  Let  'em  wait,"  grinned  Goldstein.  "  We  know  the  game, 
Randolph,  eh?  Let  'em  wait  till  nightfall.  Change  sentries 
every  two  hours.  It's  devilish  cold,  and  we  must  humour  our 
ill-licked  cubs.  And,  Randolph " 

"Yes,  Captain?" 

"  Remember,  thirty  thousand  pounds  are  worth  the  waiting 
for." 

The  master  of  Windyhough  still  kept  his  post;  but,  as  the 
day  wore  on,  he  knew  that  he  was  facing,  disastrous  odds. 
Across  his  eyes  sleep  began  to  weave  slim  and  filmy  cobwebs. 
He  brushed  them  savagely  away ;  but  a  moment  later  the  hid- 
den enemy  was  once  again  at  work.  It  was  a  warfare  as 
stealthy  as  this  fight  between  the  garrison,  sheltered  by  stout 
walls,  and  the  besiegers,  who  could  not  gauge  the  strength 
of  those  within. 

For  his  health's  sake,  the  master  went  the  round  of  the 
house,  found  Ben  Shackleton  frankly  asleep  at  the  west  win- 
dow, and  Simon  Foster  nodding,  half-befogged  with  weari- 
ness. He  roused  them — not  gently — and  the  struggle  to  stir 
them  into  watchfulness  cleared  all  the  cobwebs  from  his 
eyes. 

He  went  back  to  his  post  by  way  of  the  north  window; 
and  here  again  he  found  his  sentry  fast  asleep.  Nance  was 
sitting  on  the  chair  that  Lady  Royd  had  brought  her,  earlier 
in  the  day.  Her  brown  hair  was  loosened  in  a  cloud,  and  her 
face  was  hidden  in  her  two  capable,  small  hands.  She  had 
been  a  sentry  to  him — no  more,  no  less,  since  the  fiercest  of 
this  siege  commanded  all  his  ruggedness  and  strength;  but 
he  had  no  wish  to  rouse  her  now. 

The  waning  light  showed  him  the  bowed  figure,  the  tired- 
ness that  had  conquered  her  persistent  courage.  He  drew 
nearer,  touched  her  bowed  head  with  some  stifling  war  of 
passion  against  reverence.  All  the  muddled  way  of  his  love 
for  her — the  love  that  had  not  dared,  because  he  doubted  his 


THE  NEED  OF  SLEEP  307 

own  strength  to  claim  her — was  swept  aside.  At  the  heart 
of  him — the  big,  eager  heart  that  had  found  no  room  till  now 
— he  knew  himself  a  man.  With  the  strength  of  his  manhood 
he  needed  her,  here  in  the  midst  of  the  siege  perilous,  needed 
to  tell  her  of  his  love. 

He  moved  forward,  checked  himself,  watched  the  figure 
that  was  bent  by  a  vigil  too  burdensome  and  long-protracted. 
And  the  wildness  left  him.  The  faith  that  had  grown  with 
his  growing — the  faith  that  had  shown  signs,  a  little  while 
ago,  of  wear  and  tear — laid  a  cool,  persuasive  hand  on  him. 
Through  the  storm  and  trouble  of  this  love  for  Nance  he  saw 
that  she  was  weak,  and  wearied-out,  and  needing  sleep.  And 
at  such  times  to  the  stalwart  men  a  little  light,  reflected,  may 
be,  from  the  Madonna's  face,  shows  like  a  shrouded  star 
about  all  suffering  women. 

Rupert  was  finding  the  big  love,  and  the  lasting,  here  in 
the  silence  that  tested  faith  and  courage  more  than  any  fury 
of  attack  and  open  peril.  He  went  back  to  his  window.  And 
again  sleep  tried  to  spin  her  cobwebs  round  his  eyes;  but  her 
blandishments  were  idle. 

The  snow,  about  three  of  the  afternoon,  ceased  falling,  and 
across  the  moors  that  guarded  Windyhough  a  wild  splendour 
lit  the  hills.  The  clouds  were  scattered,  till  the  last  of  them 
trailed  over  Lone  Man's  Hill  in  smoky  mist.  The  sun  lay 
red  and  fiery  on  the  western  spurs,  and  from  the  east  the 
young  moon  rose,  her  face  clean-washed  and  radiant.  Frost 
settled  keen  and  hard  about  the  land,  and  all  the  white  empti- 
ness of  snow  grew  full  of  sparkling  life,  as  if  some  fairy  had 
gone  sowing  diamonds  broadcast. 

At  Will  Underwood's  house,  five  miles  away  across  the 
heath,  the  feckless  men  who  had  shirked  the  Rising,  took 
heart  again.  The  duck-shooting  that  Will  had  promised  them 
had  miscarried  yesterday,  because  the  snow  declined  to  hu- 
mour them;  but  there  would  be  sport  to-night.  Civil  war, 
arising  suddenly,  brings  always  strange  medleys,  and  it  seemed 
unbelievable  that  these  gentry  could  be  here,  quietly  discuss- 


308  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

ing  the  prospects  of  their  moonlight  shooting,  while  the  house 
that  was  nearest  neighbour  to  Underwood  was  standing,  un- 
known to  them,  a  siege  against  long  odds.  For  Windyhough 
lay  isolated,  high  up  the  moors  that  were  untra veiled  by 
chance  wayfarers  during  this  rough  weather;  it  was  circled 
by  rolling  hills  that  caught  the  crack  of  muskets,  and  played 
with  the  uproar,  passing  it  on  from  spur  to  spur,  until  it 
reached  the  outer  world  as  a  dull,  muffled  sound  that  had  no 
meaning  to  the  sharpest  ears. 

Rupert  did  not  ask  aid,  would  have  resented  any.  And,  as 
the  day  wore  on  to  seven  o'clock — ticked  out  solemnly  by  the 
great  clock  in  the  hall — he  was  fighting,  with  surprising  gaiety 
and  patience,  the  battle  against  silence  and  the  foe  without. 
His  eyes  were  not  misty  now  with  sleep.  His  mind  was  clear, 
unhurried,  fixed  on  a  single  purpose ;  and,  when  now  and  then 
he  made  his  round  of  the  house,  his  body  seemed  light  and 
supple  in  the  going,  as  if  he  trod  on  air.  He  was  possessed, 
indeed,  by  that  dangerous,  keen  strength  known  to  runners 
and  night-riders  as  second  wind. 

One  of  Goldstein's  sentries,  patrolling  the  front  of  the 
house,  chose  this  moment  for  a  fool's  display  of  confidence. 
The  house  was  so  silent,  the  strain  on  the  endurance  of  the 
garrison  so  heavy,  that  he  thought  them  all  asleep  within 
doors,  and  came  out  into  the  open  to  reconnoitre. 

Rupert  saw  him  creep,  a  dark  splash  against  the  frosty 
snow,  and  levelled  his  musket  sharply.  In  this  mood  of  clear 
vision  and  clear  purpose,  he  could  not  have  missed  his  aim ; 
and  the  sentry  dropped,  as  a  bullock  does  when  the  pole-axe 
strikes  his  forehead. 

And  then  there  was  a  sound  of  hurried  feet  across  the  yard, 
and  another  sentry  came  to  see  what  was  in  the  doing.  And  a 
second  musket-shot  ran  out 

"  What  is  it,  Rupert  ? "  came  a  low,  troubled  voice  from 
the  doorway. 

He  turned  and  saw  Nance  standing  there,  roused  by  the 
shots,  but  still  only  half  awake.  Not  again,  perhaps,  would 


THE  NEED  OF  SLEEP  309 

he  taste  the  exquisite,  unheeding  joy,  the  sense  of  self-com- 
mand, that  held  him  now. 

"  There  are  two  less,  my  dear,"  he  said. 

She  had  been  dreaming  of  old  days  and  new,  during  the 
vigil  at  the  north  window  that  had  proved  too  long  for  her; 
and  she  spoke  as  a  child  does,  half  between  sleep  and  wak- 
ing. 

"  I  thought  you  came  to  me,  Rupert,  and  you  held  me  close, 
because  there  was  danger,  and  you  told  me  you  were  proved 
at  long  last.  I  always  trusted  you  to  show  them — how  big  a 
Stuart  heart  you  had." 

The  master  glanced  at  her.  She  was  good  to  see,  with  the 
brown,  disordered  hair  that  clouded  a  face  soft  with  sleep 
and  tenderness.  And  yet  he  was  impatient,  as  he  touched 
her  hand,  led  her  back  to  her  seat  under  the  north  window, 
watched  her  yield  again  to  the  sleep  that  would  not  be  de- 
nied. Then  he  went  to  his  post;  and  all  the  new-found  pas- 
sion in  him,  all  his  zest  in  life,  were  centred  on  the  strip  of 
snowy  courtyard  that  lay  about  the  great  main  door.  He  was 
captain  of  this  enterprise,  and  till  the  siege  was  raised  he 
asked  no  easier  road  of  blandishment. 

For  the  next  hour  there  was  quiet,  except  that  Martha, 
the  dairymaid,  came  upstairs  with  heavy  tread;  and,  when 
the  master  went  out  to  learn  what  was  in  the  doing,  he  found 
her  setting  down  a  steaming  dish  on  Simon  Foster's  knees. 

"  You  were  always  one  for  your  victuals,"  she  was  saying 
tenderly. 

"Aye,"  assented  Simon  cheerily.  "An  empty  sack  never 
stands  up,  they  say ;  and  who  am  I  to  deny  it  ?  You've  a 
knowledgable  way  of  handling  a  man,  Martha." 

"Well,  you're  all  I  have,  Simon." 

"  And  that  willun't  be  much  to  boast  of,  if  this  plaguy  quiet 
goes  on  much  longer.  I'm  fair  moiled  wi'  weariness,  my 
lass." 

Rupert  saw  the  man,  who  should  have  learned  riper  wis- 
dom by  this  time,  bring  down  Martha's  head  to  the  level  of 


310  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

his  own ;  and  he  went  back  to  his  window,  filled  with  a  deep, 
friendly  merriment.  And  still  he  trod  on  air,  not  knowing 
how  near  he  lay  to  the  sleep  that  would  not  be  denied. 

And  by  and  by,  as  he  looked  out  in  constant  hope  that 
another  figure  would  come  stealing  into  the  moonlit  open,  he 
heard  his  mother's  spaniel  barking  from  the  far  side  of  the 
house.  The  dog  had  heard,  though  the  master's  duller  ears 
could  not,  the  voices  raised  in  sharp  discussion  in  the  stable- 
yard.  News  had  been  brought  to  Goldstein  that  the  house 
was  resolute  and  wide-awake,  if  two  dead  men  from  among 
his  lessening  band  were  proof  enough;  and  the  pain  of  his 
wound  roughened  his  impatience;  and  he  gave  certain  orders 
that  were  to  the  liking  of  his  troopers,  chilled  by  harsh 
weather  and  inaction. 

A  little  later  Rupert  heard  a  woman's  step  again  along  the 
corridor  and  the  pampered  crying  of  a  dog.  Lady  Royd,  all 
in  her  night  gear,  with  a  wrap  thrown  loosely  over  it,  came 
into  the  moonlight  of  the  room,  carrying  the  spaniel  under- 
arm. 

"  Rupert,  my  little  dog  is  restless." 

"  Yes,  mother  ?  It's  an  old  habit  with  him.  You  feed 
him  in  season  and  out.  No  wonder  he  has  nightmares." 

"  You  never  liked  him,  I  know,"  she  complained. 

He  was  gentle  with  her  petulance.  Her  face  was  stained 
with  weariness  and  fear;  she  needed  him.  On  all  hands  he 
was  needed  these  last  days ;  and  the  strength  of  him  went  out, 
buoyantly,  to  each  new  call  made  on  him. 

"  I  must  like  him  for  your  sake,  mother,"  he  answered 
lightly. 

The  spaniel  slipped  suddenly  from  Lady  Royd's  grasp,  ran 
barking  to  the  window,  and  jumped  on  to  the  sill.  All  seemed 
quiet  without,  but  the  dog  barked  furiously,  and  would  not  be 
quieted. 

Then  from  the  courtyard  a  musket  cracked.  The  bullet 
missed  the  spaniel,  went  droning  through  the  room,  and 


THE  NEED  OF  SLEEP  311 

touched  Lady  Royd's  cheek  in  passing.  She  did  not  heed, 
but  ran  and  clutched  her  dog. 

"  My  little  man ! "  she  murmured,  with  tender  foolery. 
"You're  not  hurt?  The  wicked  men,  to  shoot  at  a  wee 
doggie " 

"  He's  not  hurt,"  said  Rupert  sharply ;  "  but  you  are, 
mother." 

She  touched  her  cheek,  looked  at  the  crimson  on  her  fin- 
ger. And  she  was  the  great  lady  once  again.  "  Rupert,  a 
wasp  has  stung  me,"  she  said,  in  her  dainty,  well-bred  voice — 
"  a  rebel  wasp.  You  will  destroy  the  hive." 

And  the  master  laughed,  seeing  she  was  little  hurt.  This 
mother  of  his  was  a  Royd  among  them,  after  all.  She  had 
not  thought  of  danger  as  she  snatched  her  spaniel  from  the 
window,  had  not  winced  when  the  bullet  seared  her  cheek. 
In  the  quiet,  royal  way,  she  gave  her  quarrel  into  his  hands 
and  trusted  him  to  take  it  up. 

"What's  agate,  master?"  asked  Simon  Foster,  coming  in 
to  learn  the  meaning  of  the  musket-shot. 

"  I  can't  tell  you,  Simon.    All  was  quiet  outside " 

"  Not  if  the  dog  heard  something,"  said  the  other  shrewdly. 
"  He's  sharper  ears  than  you  or  me." 

He  lifted  his  head  cautiously  above  the  sill  and  listened. 
There  was  silence  absolute  in  the  courtyard,  and  within  doors 
only  the  tick-tack  of  the  eight-day  clock  in  the  hall,  the  whim- 
pering of  the  spaniel.  Whatever  Goldstein's  project  had 
been,  it  was  delayed  by  the  dog's  unexpected  challenge. 

Simon  scented  danger  on  this  side  of  the  house,  however, 
and  would  not  get  back  to  his  post.  And  a  half-hour  later 
his  patience  was  rewarded. 

"  I  guess  what  they're  at,"  he  said,  turning  with  a  slow 
grin.  "  My  lady — meaning  no  disrespect — you'd  best  keep 
your  lile  dog's  tongue  still,  or  he'll  spoil  our  sport." 

Lady  Royd  was  learning  obedience  these  days.  "  Are  they 
your  orders,  Rupert  ?  "  she  said  submissively. 


312  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  Yes,  mother,  yes.  Get  back  to  your  warm  room.  You'll 
take  a  chill  out  here." 

She  turned  at  the  door,  glanced  at  him  with  a  whimsical, 
queer  air  of  raillery.  "  You  men  are  built  after  the  one  pat- 
tern. You  need  us  women  till  there's  something  worth  while 
in  the  doing,  and  then — why,  then,  my  dear,  you  send  us 
straight  to  bed,  like  naughty  children." 

"  We  keep  you  out  of  harm's  way,  mother.  Good-night," 
said  Rupert  gravely.  "  What  do  you  hear,  Simon  ? "  he 
asked  the  moment  she  was  gone. 

"  Men  creeping  through  the  snow ;  I  can  hear  their  feet 
scrunching  over  the  frozen  crust;  and  they're  dragging 
branches  after  them.  I  was  a  fool  not  to  listen  to  the  women- 
folk when  they  asked  me  to  get  in  yond  cartload  of  fuel  I 
left  just  outside  the  gate." 

The  master  understood  at  last.  "  They'll  be  firing  the  main 
door?" 

"  Just  that.  And  there's  straw  in  plenty,  and  the  stack  o' 
bracken  we  got  in  last  autumn,  and  a  barrel  of  tar  left  over 
from  the  spring.  They've  got  it  all  ready  to  their  hands, 
master." 

"  I'm  glad  of  it,"  said  Rupert,  with  the  keen,  unerring  fore- 
sight bred  of  the  vigil  he  had  kept. 

"  Oh?    And  for  why,  if  a  plain  body  might  ask?" 

"  Because  another  night  of  this  would  find  us  fast  asleep, 
Simon.  I  have  had  to  wake  you  once  or  twice  already,  and 
I've  not  slept  since  Tuesday." 

"  I  can't  rightly  follow  you,"  said  Foster,  whose  wits 
jogged  slowly. 

"  Let  them  fire  the  door.  It's  our  one  chance.  We  can 
keep  awake,  say,  for  two  hours  longer,  and  the  fight  will 
help  us." 

So  then  Simon,  who  thought  himself  old  to  warfare,  yielded 
to  a  grudging  admiration  of  this  youngster  who  was  fighting 
his  first  battle.  "  Who  taught  ye  this  ? "  he  asked,  with  sim- 
ple curiosity. 


THE  NEED  OF  SLEEP  313 

"  The  years  behind,"  snapped  Rupert. 

They  listened  to  the  stealthy  goings  and  comings  out  of 
doors.  Between  the  house-wall  and  the  line  of  fire  from 
Rupert's  window  there  was  a  clear  five  yards  of  sanctuary; 
and  along  this  track  of  safety  they  could  hear  Goldstein's  men 
scrunch  to  and  fro,  carrying  fuel  of  all  kinds  to  the  sturdy 
main  door  that  had  barred  their  progress  until  now.  And 
once  they  heard  a  gruff  command  from  the  sergeant  who  led 
this  enterprise. 

"  Stir  yourselves,  fools ! "  The  rough  German  tongue 
sounded  muffled  from  below.  "  We'll  catch  'em  asleep ;  and 
there's  thirty  thousand  pounds  indoors,  and  wine,  and  com- 
fort ;  stir  yourselves,  my  lads !  " 

Rupert  did  not  understand  the  language  of  these  hired  sol- 
diers, but  the  rough  edge  of  a  man's  voice  carries  meaning, 
whatever  tongue  he  speaks. 

"  There's  no  time  to  waste,  Simon.  We  must  get  all  our 
muskets  down  into  the  hall." 

He  crossed  the  landing,  told  Ben  Shackleton  what  was  in 
the  doing,  and  the  three  of  them  made  speed  with  carrying 
the  muskets  down.  The  two  older  men  borrowed  something 
of  the  master's  eagerness  and  fire,  forgetting  that  they  were 
half  dead  for  lack  of  sleep — sleep,  which  is  more  vital  to  a 
man  than  food,  or  drink,  or  happiness. 

"  They'll  fire  the  door,  and  come  through  the  gap,"  said 
Rupert,  as  if  he  spoke  of  trifles.  "  I  take  this  wall ;  you  stand 
close  against  the  other." 

"  I  catch  your  drift,  master,"  said  Simon,  with  a  slow  grip 
of  understanding.  "  We  shall  be  i'  the  dark,  and  they'll  be 
red-litten  by  a  bonfire  o'  their  own  making.  And  they'll  have 
one  shot  apiece  to  fire,  but  we'll  have  six.  You  frame  not  so 
varry  ill,  seeing  how  young  you  are." 

The  master,  by  the  light  of  a  solitary  candle  that  stood  in 
a  sconce  overhead,  saw  to  the  priming  of  his  muskets,  laid 
them  in  an  orderly  row  along  the  floor,  and  watched  his  men 
while  they  did  the  like.  And  then  he  bent  an  ear  toward  the 


314  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

main  door.  Its  thickness,  and  the  settle  up-ended  against  it, 
let  no  sound  come  through,  save  now  and  then  a  dulled  oath 
or  quick  command.  And  again  there  was  a  waiting-time,  one 
of  many  that  had  come  to  Windyhough. 

Rupert,  sure  that  he  would  not  be  needed  for  a  while,  ran 
up  the  stairs  and  found  Nance  still  sleeping  like  a  child  at 
her  post,  and  roused  her  gently. 

"Are  you  hurt?"  she  asked,  scarce  awake  from  a  dream 
of  onset  and  of  fury  that  had  pictured  Rupert  in  the  fore- 
front of  the  battle. 

And  then  he  told  her — quickly,  because  this  was  time  stolen 
from  his  work  downstairs — that  she  must  get  Lady  Royd  into 
the  kitchen,  must  wait  there  with  the  women-servants  till  they 
knew  how  the  night's  battle  went.  If  the  house  were  taken, 
they  were  to  escape  by  the  kitchen  door,  find  their  way  to  the 
disused  farmstead  in  the  hollow,  and  hide  there  till  Gold- 
stein's men  had  ridden  off. 

"  But  there  are  only  three  of  you,"  said  Nance,  alert  once 
more.  "You  let  me  keep  a  window  for  you,  Rupert — are 
you  afraid  I  shall  go  to  sleep  again  if  I  join  your  company 
downstairs  ?  " 

"  I  command  here,"  he  said  briefly,  "  and  you  obey." 

In  the  thickest  tumult  women  have  odd  methods  of  their 
own.  "  Obey  ?  I  never  liked  the  word.  I  come  with  you — 
where  the  gunshots  are." 

"  No,"  said  Rupert 

And,  "  Yes,"  she  said,  an  open  quarrel  in  her  glance. 

So  then  the  master,  by  sheer,  blundering  honesty,  found 
the  right  way  with  her.  "  Nance,  you'll  weaken  me  if  you 
come  down.  Nothing  that  can  happen  to  me — nothing — can 
hurt  me  as — as  what  would  chance  if  Goldstein's  brutes  got 
through  us." 

In  the  hurry  and  suspense,  Nance  found  leisure — long  al- 
most as  eternity — to  see  Rupert  as  he  was.  This  was  his 
courage,  this  was  his  love  for  her — a  love  asking  nothing,  ex- 
cept to  stand  between  herself  and  danger. 


THE  NEED  OF  SLEEP  315 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  think  I  shall  obey." 

And  the  master,  greatly  daring,  lifted  her  hand,  and 
touched  it  with  his  lips.  "  God  bless  you,  Nance ! "  he  said, 
as  if  he  toasted  royalty. 

He  went  down  the  stair,  took  his  place  at  the  wall,  and 
stood  nursing  a  musket  in  his  hands. 

"They're  long  in  getting  their  durned  fire  alight,"  said 
Ben  Shackleton,  with  a  nonchalance  bred  of  great  excite- 
ment. 

Simon  Foster's  unrest  took  another  form  of  outlet.  He 
crossed  to  the  master's  side  of  the  hall,  reached  up  and  blew 
the  candle  out.  "  Best  take  no  risks,"  he  grumbled.  "  You 
were  always  a  bit  unpractical,  master,  though  I  say  it  to  your 
face." 

Two  hours  or  so  before,  Will  Underwood  had  led  his  com- 
pany of  good  livers  and  poor  loyalists  across  the  frozen  snow 
to  the  roomy  stretch  of  water  that  was  known  as  Priest's 
Tarn.  It  was  a  white  and  austere  land  they  crossed — league 
after  league  of  shrouded,  rolling  heath  that  stretched  to  the 
still,  frozen  skies.  The  moon,  hard  and  clear-cut,  seemed 
only  to  increase  the  savage  desolation  by  interpreting  its 
nakedness. 

The  company  were  not  burdened  by  the  awe  and  stillness 
of  the  night.  They  had  dined  well;  there  was  prospect  of 
good  sport;  the  going  underfoot  was  crisp  and  pleasant.  It 
was  only  when  they  reached  the  Tarn,  and  Will  Underwood 
looked  down  at  the  gables  of  Windyhough,  snowy  in  the 
moonlight  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below,  that  some  keenness  of 
regret  took  hold  of  him.  Nance  was  under  the  roof  yonder; 
and  he  loved  her  with  a  passion  that  had  been  strengthened, 
cleansed  of  much  dross,  since  she  put  shame  on  him ;  and  yet 
he  was  forbidden  to  go  down  and  ask  how  she  was  faring. 
Even  his  hardihood  could  not  face  a  second  time  the  con- 
tempt that  had  given  him  a  kerchief,  because  he  might  need 
a  flag  of  truce. 

"  Here's  Will  all  in  a  dream,  with  his  eyes  on  Windyhough/' 


S16  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

laughed  the  jolly,  red-faced  squire.  "  Well,  well !  We  all 
know  Nance  Demaine  is  a  bonnie  lass." 

Underwood  turned  sharply,  too  sick  at  heart  to  care  how 
openly  he  showed  his  feelings.  "  We'll  not  discuss  Miss  De- 
maine, sir ;  our  record  is  not  clean  enough." 

The  squire  was  ruffled  by  the  taunt,  because  he,  too,  was 
uneasy  touching  this  stay-at-home  policy  that  once  had 
seemed  so  prudent.  "  The  man's  in  love,"  he  said,  with  bois- 
terous raillery.  "  Here's  Lancashire  packed  thick  with  pretty 
women,  and  he  thinks  there's  only  one  swan  in  the  county. 
Will,  you  must  let  me  laugh.  To  be  young — and  sick  with 
love — it's  a  fine,  silly  business.  And  little  Nance  has 
frowned,  has  she,  when  we  thought  you  the  prime  favour- 
ite?" 

"  If  you  want  a  duel,"  said  Underwood  suddenly,  "  you 
can  have  it.  The  moon's  light  is  good  enough." 

"  We  have  no  swords." 

"  No,  but  we  have  our  fowling-pieces — say,  at  twenty  paces. 
The  light  is  good  enough,  I  tell  you." 

There  were  seven  in  the  party,  and  five  of  them  at  least 
were  not  disposed  to  miss  their  duck-shooting  because  two  of 
their  number  chose  to  pick  a  quarrel.  And,  somehow,  by 
ridicule,  persuasion,  threats  of  interference,  they  staved  off 
the  duel.  And  Will  Underwood  turned  his  back  on  Windy- 
hough,  regained  a  little  of  his  old,  easy  self,  and  settled  to 
the  night's  business. 

They  put  on  the  linen  coats  they  had  brought  with  them, 
each  laughing  as  he  watched  his  neighbour  struggle  with 
sleeves  too  narrow  to  go  easily  over  their  thick  wearing-gear, 
and  took  their  stations  round  the  Tarn.  They  stood  there 
silently,  and  waited ;  and  they  were  white  against  white  snow, 
so  that  even  the  keen-eyed  duck  could  see  nothing  in  this 
waste  of  silence  except  the  glinting  gun-barrels. 

They  waited  for  it  might  be  half  an  hour,  till  the  cold  be- 
gan to  nip  them.  The  black  waters  of  the  Tarn  showed  in 
eerie  contrast  to  the  never-ending  white  that  hemmed  its  bor- 


THE  NEED  OF  SLEEP  SI? 

ders.  And  then  the  wild-duck  began  to  come,  some  flying 
low,  some  swinging  high  against  the  moon  and  starry  sky. 
And  one  and  all  of  the  seven  ghostly  sportsmen  forgot  they 
were  due  with  Prince  Charles  Edward  on  the  road  of  hon- 
our; for  there  is  a  wild,  absorbing  glee  about  this  moortop 
sport  that  cancels  men's  regrets  and  shame. 

Will  Underwood  shot  well  to-night.  He  picked  the  highest 
birds,  from  sheer  zest  in  his  marksmanship;  and  he  saw  the 
feathers,  time  after  time,  fluff  up  against  the  moonlight, 
watched  his  bird  come  down  with  that  quick,  slanting  drop 
which  is  the  curve  of  beauty. 

Then  there  was  another  waiting-time.  It  was  easy  to 
gather  their  birds,  for  they  showed  plain  against  the  snow, 
and  the  green  feathers  of  the  drakes  glanced  in  the  moon- 
light with  a  strange,  other-worldly  sheen. 

"  A  night  worth  living  for,  Will,"  said  the  red-faced  squire, 
as  he  went  again  to  his  station. 

The  duck  were  long  in  coming,  and  while  they  waited  two 
musket-shots  rang  out  from  the  dingle  that  sheltered  Windy- 
hough  below.  The  uproar  was  so  loud  on  the  still  air,  so 
unexpected,  that  the  men  forgot  the  need  of  silence,  and 
drew  together,  and  asked  each  other  sharply  what  it  meant. 

"  Rupert  the  cavalier  aiming  at  the  moon,"  snapped  Un- 
derwood. "  He  always  did.  He  will  wake  his  lady  mother's 
spaniel." 

No  other  shot  sounded  from  below,  and  they  returned  at 
last  to  their  waiting  for  the  duck  to  come  over.  But  Will 
Underwood  kept  his  eyes  steadily  on  the  house  below,  and 
wondered,  with  an  unrest  that  gained  strength  every  moment, 
if  all  were  well  with  Nance.  He  was  roused  by  a  sharp  call 
from  the  squire. 

"  Your  bird,  Will !  " 

Will  glanced  up  by  instinct,  saw  a  drake  winging  big  and 
high  overhead,  and  brought  him  down.  Then  he  looked 
across  at  Windyhough  again,  and  saw  a  flicker  of  crimson 
shoot  up  against  the  leafless  tree  that  guarded  it  The  flicker 


SI 8  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

grew  to  a  ruddy,  pulsing  shaft  of  flame  till  the  roof-snow 
took  on  a  rose-colour. 

Underwood,  ruffler,  stay-at-home,  and  man  of  prudence, 
felt  thanksgiving  stir  about  his  heart.  There  was  danger 
threatening  Windyhough;  and  Nance  was  there,  and  his  sin- 
gle thought  was  for  her  safety. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  with  a  quiet  gravity,  "  the  duck 
must  wait  We're  needed  there  at  Windyhough." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   PLEASANT  FURY 

AT  Windyhough  there  was  an  end  of  watching.  Sleep  had 
been  the  one  traitor  within-doors,  and  Goldstein's  men,  by  fir- 
ing the  main  door,  had  killed  their  comrade  in  the  garrison. 
Rupert,  fingering  one  of  his  six  muskets,  was  tasting  the 
keenest  happiness  that  had  come  to  him  as  yet.  Ben  Shackle- 
ton,  as  he  watched  the  timbers  of  the  doorway  flame  and  glow, 
forgot  that  he  had  a  farm,  a  wife,  and  twenty  head  of  cattle 
needing  him.  And  Simon  Foster,  for  his  part,  remembered 
the  '15,  the  slow  years  afterwards,  and  knew  that  it  was  good 
to  be  alive  at  last. 

They  watched  the  fire  eat  at  the  woodwork,  watched  the 
shifting  play  of  colour;  and,  apart  from  the  roar  of  the 
flames,  the  cracking  of  strained  timbers,  there  was  silence  on 
each  side  of  the  crumbling  barricades.  Then  suddenly  the 
whole  middle  of  the  door  fell  inward,  and  in  the  pulsing  light 
outside  Rupert  saw  a  press  of  men. 

And  the  battle  at  the  main  door  here  was  guided  with  wise 
generalship,  as  it  had  been  at  the  outer  gate  some  days  ago. 

"  Fire !  "  said  the  master  sharply. 

His  own  musket  was  the  first  to  answer  the  command,  then 
Shackleton's,  and  afterwards  Simon  Foster's.  In  the  red 
light,  and  at  such  close  quarters,  they  could  not  miss  their 
aim,  and  three  of  Goldstein's  company  dropped  headlong  into 
the  flaming  gap,  hindering  those  behind  them. 

"  Fire ! "  said  the  master  again,  with  quick  precision. 

And  then  the  attacking  company  withdrew  a  while,  after 
sending  a  hurried,  useless  volley  through  the  hall.  They  had 
been  prepared  for  a  fight  within-doors  against  a  garrison  of 

319 


320  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

unknown  strength,  but  not  for  this  welcome  on  the  threshold. 

The  sergeant,  hard-bitten  and  old  to  campaigning,  was  dis- 
mayed for  a  moment  as  he  looked  at  his  lessened  company. 
When  they  came  first  to  Windyhough  this  band  of  Gold- 
stein's had  numbered  one-and-twenty.  Now,  at  the  end  of 
two  days,  he  could  count  only  ten;  the  rest  were  either  killed 
or  laid  aside  beyond  present  hope  of  action.  It  was  no  pleas- 
ant beginning  for  an  assault  upon  the  darkness  that  lay  in- 
side the  burning  woodwork  of  the  door. 

Then  he  got  himself  in  hand  again.  Whatever  the  un- 
known odds  against  them,  their  one  chance  was  to  go  for- 
ward, now  the  door  was  down. 

"  We've  tasted  hell  before,"  he  growled.  "  Steady,  you 
fools!  You're  not  frightened  of  the  dark." 

He  sprang  forward,  and  at  the  moment  the  last  timbers  of 
the  doorway  fell  and  flamed  on  the  threshold,  lighting  up  the 
whole  width  of  the  hall.  He  saw  Simon  Foster  standing  by 
the  wall  and  levelling  his  musket,  and  fired  sharply  and  hit 
him  through  the  ribs.  And  after  that  was  Bedlam,  confused 
and  maniacal  and  full  of  oaths ;  but  to  Rupert  the  glamour  of 
his  life  had  dawned  in  earnest. 

He  fired  into  the  incoming  company,  and  so  did  Ben 
Shackleton;  and  then  they  retreated  to  the  stairfoot,  carry- 
ing a  musket  apiece. 

There  were  eight  left  now  of  Goldstein's  men,  and  they 
rushed  in  with  such  fury  that  they  jostled  one  another,  hin- 
dering their  aim.  Eight  shots  spat  viciously  at  the  garrison 
of  two,  and  Shackleton's  right  arm  was  hit  by  a  bullet  that 
glanced  wide  from  the  masonry  behind  him.  He  clubbed  his 
musket  with  the  left  hand  and  brought  it  down  on  the  head 
of  the  man  nearest  to  him,  and  then  he  was  borne  down  by 
numbers. 

Rupert,  not  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  was  alone  against 
long  odds.  But  to-night  he  was  master  of  his  house,  mas- 
ter of  the  clean,  eager  soul  that  had  waited  for  this  battle. 
From  the  kitchen,  where  he  had  bidden  his  women- folk  take 


THE  PLEASANT  FURY  321 

shelter,  he  heard  Lady  Royd's  spaniel  yapping  furiously;  and 
he  smiled,  because  old  memories  were  stirred. 

He  went  up  five  steps  of  the  stairway,  singled  out  the  ser- 
geant, because  he  was  the  bulkiest  of  the  seven  left,  and  fired 
point-blank  at  him.  After  that  there  was  no  leisure  for  any 
one  of  them  to  reload;  it  was  simply  Rupert  on  the  narrow 
stairway,  swinging  his  musket  lightly,  against  six  maddened 
troopers  who  could  only  come  up  one  by  one. 

It  was  Nance  who  intervened  disastrously.  She  did  not 
know — how  could  she — that  the  master,  at  the  end  of  a  dis- 
maying, harassed  vigil,  was  stronger  than  the  six  who  met 
him.  They  were  dulled  to  the  glory  of  assault,  but  he  was 
gathering  up  the  dreams  of  the  long,  unproven  years,  was 
fighting  his  first  battle,  was  armoured  by  a  faith  more  keen 
and  vivid  than  this  world's  weaknesses  could  touch. 

Nance,  sick  to  know  how  it  was  faring  with  the  master, 
weary  of  the  yapping  spaniel  and  the  old  housekeeper's  com-  ' 
plaint  that  she  wished  to  die  decently  in  her  bed,  out  of  eye- 
shot of  rude  men — Nance  crept  up  the  back  stair,  and  took  a 
musket  from  the  ledge  of  the  north  window  she  had  guarded. 
Then  she  went  down  again,  crossed  the  passage  that  led  to 
the  main  hall,  halted  a  moment  as  she  saw  Rupert  on  the  stair, 
the  six  men  below — all  lit  by  the  unearthly,  crimson  flare  of 
burning  woodwork — and  lifted  her  musket  with  trim  pre- 
cision. 

She  had  lessened  the  odds  by  one;  but  Rupert,  glancing 
down  to  see  who  had  fired  so  unexpectedly,  saw  Nance  stand- 
ing at  the  rear  of  this  battle  which  was  his.  And  his  weak- 
ness took  him  unawares.  He  had  been  dominant  and  gay, 
because  he  carried  his  life  lightly ;  but  now  there  was  Nance's 
honour.  One  of  the  five  left  came  up  at  him,  and  Rupert's 
aim  was  true  with  the  butt-end  of  his  musket;  but  he  was 
not  fighting  now  with  a  single  purpose,  and  he  knew  it.  And 
sleep,  kept  at  bay  through  every  minute  of  every  hour  that 
had  struck  since  Goldstein's  men  came  first,  began  to  claim  its 
toll. 


322  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

He  could  not  hold  the  stair,  sleep  whispered  at  his  ear. 
And  he  rallied  bravely,  afraid  for  the  first  time  because  of 
Nance.  If  he  should  fail  to  keep  the  stair?  A  sharp,  un- 
reasoning anger  seized  him.  Why  was  she  here?  Women 
were  good  to  send  men  into  battle,  to  bind  their  wounds  up 
afterwards,  but  in  the  hot,  keen  thick  of  it  they  had  no  place. 
Do  as  he  would,  his  glance  kept  seeking  the  little  figure  that 
stood  on  the  edge  of  the  fire-glow,  and  the  men  pressing  up 
were  quick  to  see  the  change  in  him. 

With  a  last,  hard  effort  he  shut  down  all  thought  of  Nance. 
The  troopers  he  had  stunned  lay  sprawling  down  the  stair, 
hindering  the  men  behind.  For  a  moment  there  was  respite, 
and  in  that  moment  sleep  thickened  round  the  master's  eye- 
lids. The  confidence,  the  sense  of  treading  air,  borrowed  at 
usury  from  his  strength,  were  fast  deserting  him.  He  had 
victory  full  in  sight  on  this  narrow  stair,  and,  like  his  Prince, 
he  felt  it  slip  past  him  out  of  reach,  for  no  cause  that  seemed 
logical. 

Nance  did  not  guess  the  share  she  had  had  in  this.  She 
saw  only  that  Rupert  stooped  suddenly,  as  if  in  mortal  sick- 
ness, then  squared  his  shoulders — saw  that  one  of  the  men  at 
the  stairfoot  was  reloading  his  musket  with  deft  haste,  and 
shut  her  eyes.  For  she,  too,  was  weak  from  lack  of  sleep. 

Will  Underwood,  meanwhile,  was  running  down  the  moor, 
the  red-faced  squire  and  the  other  sporting  recusants  behind 
him.  There  was  no  doubt  now  that  Windyhough  was  in  ur- 
gent peril.  They  could  see  the  flaming  doorway,  could  smell 
the  scudding  reek  of  smoke  that  came  up-wind. 

"  You're  up  to  the  neck  in  love,"  protested  the  squire,  try- 
ing to  keep  pace  with  Will.  "  There's  naught  else  gives  such 
wind  to  a  man's  feet." 

A  sharp  noise  of  musketry  answered  him  from  below,  and 
Will  ran  ever  a  little  faster.  The  squire's  gibe  did  not  trou- 
ble him.  The  whole  past  life  of  him — the  squalor  of  his 
youth,  the  sterile  abnegation  of  the  Sabbaths  spent  at  Rig- 


THE  PLEASANT  FURY  323 

stones  Chapel,  the  gradual  change  to  ease  and  popularity 
among  big-hearted  gentry — passed  by  him  like  a  fast-moving 
company  of  ghosts.  And  then  another  phantom  stole,  with 
faltering  steps  and  shrouded  head,  across  this  vision  he  was 
borrowing  from  another  world.  He  saw  his  cowardice,  lean, 
shrivelled,  stooping — the  cowardice  that  had  been  born  of 
ease  and  frank  self-seeking.  He  had  pledged  faith  that  he 
would  follow  the  Stuart  when  need  asked ;  and  he  had  broken 
troth,  because  he  yearned  to  keep  his  house  and  lands,  be- 
cause he  had  planned  to  give  a  ball  at  Christmas  that  should 
set  all  Lancashire  talking  of  its  pomp. 

God  was  very  kind  to-night  to  Wild  Will.  The  run  was 
short  and  swift  to  Windyhough,  as  time  is  reckoned ;  but  dur- 
ing the  scamper  over  broken  ground  he  found  that  leisure  of 
the  soul  which  is  cradled  in  eternity.  He  won  free  of  his 
past.  He  knew  only  that  the  squire  had  spoken  a  true  word 
in  jest. 

He  was  deep  in  love.  All  the  ache  and  trouble  of  his  need 
for  Nance  were  wiped  clean  away.  She  was  in  danger,  and 
he  was  running  to  her  aid;  and  he  understood,  with  a  clean 
and  happy  sense  of  well-being,  the  way  of  his  Catholic  friends 
when  they  loved  a  woman.  Until  now  it  had  been  a  riddle  to 
him,  the  quality  of  this  regard.  He  had  seen  them  love  as 
full-blooded  men  do — with  storm  and  jealousy  and  passion- 
ate unrest,  but  always  with  a  subtle  reserve,  a  princely  defer- 
ence, shining  dimly  through  it  all.  And  to-night,  his  vision 
singularly  clear,  he  knew  that  their  faith  was  more  than  lip 
speech,  knew  that  the  Madonna  had  come  once,  and  once  for 
all,  to  show  the  path  of  chivalry. 

If  Rupert  had  found  happiness  during  this  siege  that  had 
tested  his  manhood,  so,  too,  had  Will  Underwood.  With  a 
single  purpose,  with  desire  only  to  serve  Nance,  asking  no 
thanks  or  recompense,  he  raced  over  the  last  strip  of  broken 
ground  and  through  the  courtyard  gate. 

"  Be  gad !  they've  been  busy  here ! "  growled  the  red-faced 


324  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

squire,  seeing  the  bodies  lying  black  against  the  snow  and 
hearing  the  wounded  crying  in  their  anguish.  But  Will  did 
not  see  the  littered  yard,  the  white,  keen  moonlight  that 
spared  no  ugly  detail.  His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  burning 
threshold — Nance  was  behind  it,  and  she  needed  him. 

The  fallen  doorway,  the  blazing  remnants  of  the  settle,  had 
set  fire  by  now  to  the  woodwork  of  the  hall.  Will  ran 
through  the  heat  and  smoke  of  it,  saw  Rupert  swaying  dizzily 
half  up  the  stair,  and  below  him  four  Hessian  troopers,  one  of 
whom  was  lifting  a  musket  to  his  shoulder.  He  had  his 
fowling-piece  in  hand,  half-cocked  by  instinct  when  he  left 
the  duck-shooting  for  this  scamper  down  the  moor.  He 
cocked  it,  and  at  the  moment  the  trooper  who  was  taking  aim 
at  Rupert  turned  sharply,  hearing  the  din  of  feet  behind,  saw 
a  press  of  men,  white  from  head  to  foot,  pouring  through  the 
doorway,  and  fired  heedlessly  at  Underwood.  And  Will's 
fowling-piece  barked  at  the  same  moment;  at  six  paces  the 
charge  of  shot  was  compact  and  solid  as  a  bullet,  but  the 
wound  it  made  was  larger,  and  not  clean  at  all. 

The  three  troopers  left  faced  round  on  the  incoming  com- 
pany. They  saw  seven  men,  white  in  the  linen  coats  they  had 
not  found  thought  or  leisure  to  throw  off,  and  sudden  panic 
seized  them.  Through  the  stark  waiting-time  of  their  siege, 
with  the  moors  and  the  sobbing  winds  to  foster  superstition, 
they  had  learned  belief  in  ghosts,  and  thought  they  saw  them 
now.  They  ran  blindly  for  the  doorway.  Rupert  leaped 
from  the  stair,  and  they  were  taken  front  and  rear. 

When  all  was  done,  Rupert  steadied  himself,  stood  straight 
and  soldierly,  scanned  the  faces  of  his  rescuers,  and  knew 
them  all  for  friends. 

"  My  thanks,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  with  tired  courtesy. 
"  You  came  in  a  good  hour." 

He  leaned  a  hand  on  the  Red  Squire's  shoulder,  wiped  a 
trickle  of  blood  from  some  chance  wound  that  had  touched 
his  forehead,  glanced  round  at  them  with  dim,  unseeing  eyes. 

"Have  I  kept  the  house?    Have  I  finished?" 


THE  PLEASANT  FURY  325 

"  The  house  is  in  our  keeping  now.  You've  done  well,  my 
lad,"  said  the  red-faced  squire,  with  gruff  tenderness. 

"  Then  I'll  get  to  sleep,  I  think." 

And  he  would  have  fallen,  but  the  squire  held  him  up  and, 
putting  two  rough  arms  about  him,  carried  him  upstairs. 

"A  well-plucked  one,"  he  said,  returning  quickly.  "And 
now,  gentlemen,  the  house  will  be  on  fire,  by  your  leave,  if 
we  don't  turn  our  hands  to  the  pump." 

Nance,  watching  from  the  shadows,  was  bewildered  by  the 
speed  and  fury  of  it  all — bewildered  more  by  the  business- 
like, quiet  way  in  which  these  linen-coated  gentry  went  in  and 
out  of  hall,  carrying  buckets  and  quenching  the  last  smoul- 
dering flames  with  water  from  the  stable  yard.  This  was 
war — war,  with  its  horror,  its  gallantry,  its  comedy;  but  it 
was  not  the  warfare  she  had  pictured  when  she  sang  heroic 
ballads  at  the  spinet. 

And  then  the  night's  uproar  and  its  madness  passed  by  her. 
She  thought  only  of  the  master  who  had  all  but  died  just  now 
to  save  the  house — to  save  her  honour.  She  could  not  face 
the  busy  hall,  the  man  sprawling  on  the  stair,  head  down- 
ward, where  Rupert's  blow  had  left  him.  Instead,  she  went 
back  along  the  corridor  and  up  by  the  servants'  stairway,  and 
found  Rupert  lying  in  a  dead  sleep  in  his  own  chamber,  a 
lighted  candle  at  his  elbow,  just  as  the  red- faced  squire  had 
left  him. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  knowing  he  pould  not  hear,  "  my 
dear  " — her  voice  broke  in  a  deep,  quiet  laugh  that  had  no 
meaning  to  her  as  yet — "  they  said  you  were  the  scholar. 
And  I  think  they  lied." 

She  lifted  her  head  by  and  by,  hearing  the  squire's  voice 
below  in  the  hall. 

"Where's  Will  Underwood?"  he  was  asking  noisily. 
"  We've  got  the  fire  under,  and  we  can  see  each  other's  faces 
now  we've  lit  the  candles.  Where,  by  the  Mass,  is  Under- 
wood?" 

Nance    shivered.     Through    her    weariness,    through    the 


326  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

panic  of  this  sharp  attack,  she  recalled  the  shame  of  her  first 
love,  recalled  her  meeting  with  Will  Underwood  on  the  high 
moors,  when  he  had  talked  of  loyalty  as  a  thing  of  barter. 

She  stooped  to  touch  Rupert  as  he  slept.  Here  was  a  man, 
spent  and  weak;  but  here,  proved  through  and  through,  was 
a  cleanly  gentleman  who,  against  odds,  had  kept  his  obliga- 
tions. Old  affection  stirred  in  her,  and  new  pride  in  his  con- 
duct of  the  siege. 

"  Where's  Underwood  ? "  pame  the  squire's  voice  again. 
"  Is  this  some  prank  of  his,  to  hide  away  ?  " 

"  With  Nance  Demaine,  sir,"  answered  some  pert  young- 
ster of  the  company.  "Where  else  should  he  be?  He  was 
never  one  to  waste  time." 

"You've  guessed  the  riddle,  youngster."  The  squire's 
laugh  was  boisterous.  "  It's  odd  to  think  of  Underwood 
lovesick  as  a  lad  in  his  teens— especially  just  now,  with  all 
this  litter  in  the  hall." 

Outside  the  doorway  Will  Underwood  was  lying  in  the 
moonlight.  He  had  been  hit  in  the  groin  by  Goldstein's 
trooper,  just  as  he  answered  with  a  charge  of  shot  at  six 
paces;  and  because  the  hills  had  bred  him,  he  needed  to  get 
out  into  the  open,  taking  his  sickness  with  him. 

He  lay  in  the  snow  and  looked  up  at  the  sky.  He  had 
never  seen  a  whiter  moon,  a  clearer  light,  at  time  of  mid- 
winter. Land  and  sky  were  glittering  with  frost,  and  over- 
head he  saw  the  seven  starry  lamps  of  Charlie's  Wain.  He 
was  in  bitter  anguish,  and  knew  that  his  hurt  was  mortal ;  he 
had  no  regret  for  that,  because  he  knew,  too,  that  Windyhough 
and  Nance  were  saved.  His  bitterness  was  of  the  soul. 
Strain  as  he  would,  he  could  not  shut  out  the  picture — clear 
as  the  frosty  sky  above  him — of  Nance's  face  when  she  met 
him  on  the  moor — years  ago,  it  seemed — and  he  thought  he 
was  his  own  ghost,  come  to  warn  her  of  his  death. 

He  lived  through  that  scene  again  in  detail,  heard  Nance's 
voice  sweep  all  his  prudent  self-esteem  aside.  And  her  scorn 
bit  deeper  now,  because  he  knew  at  last  the  strength  of  his 


THE  PLEASANT  FURY  S27 

fine  regard  for  her.  Passion  was  gone.  Prudence  was  gone, 
because  men  near  to  death  remember  that  they  came  naked 
into  the  world.  He  had  lost  the  trickeries  that  had  earned 
him  the  name  of  Wild  Will,  and  was  glad  to  let  them  go. 
He  was  aware  only  that  he  lay  between  here  and  hereafter, 
in  pain  of  body  and  soul,  and  that  he  might  take  this  last 
fence  gladly,  as  on  a  hunting-morn,  if  he  could  wipe  away  the 
remembrance  of  one  day  gone  by. 

Many  things  grew  clear  to  him  as  he  lay  and  watched  the 
moon.  The  wrath  and  pitiless  hell-fire  of  Rigstones  Chapel 
yielded  to  a  wider  outlook  on  the  forgiveness  of  a  Being 
greater  than  himself  in  charity.  He  found  it  easy  to  forgive 
his  enemies,  to  forget  his  jealousy  of  Rupert,  whom  he  had 
saved  just  now.  But,  warring  against  the  peace  he  sought, 
and  keeping  the  life  quick  in  his  tortured  body,  was  remem- 
brance of  that  day  on  the  high  moors.  His  work,  good  or  ill, 
was  done,  and  he  longed  to  die,  and  could  not. 

Into  the  littered  hall  at  Windyhough,  while  the  squire  paced 
up  and  down  asking  noisily  for  Will  Underwood,  old  Nat  the 
shepherd  sauntered,  pipe  in  hand.  He  was  old,  and  a 
dreamer,  and  the  gunshots  and  the  fury  had  not  disturbed 
him  greatly. 

Nat  glanced  round  at  the  fallen  men  and  the  standing,  at 
the  doorway  through  whose  blackened  lintels  the  keen  moon- 
light stole  to  drown  the  candle-flames.  And  he  laughed,  a 
gentle,  pitying  laugh.  "  It's  naught  so  much  to  brag  about," 
he  said.  "  There  were  bonnier  doings  i'  the  '15  Rising.  Men 
were  men  i'  those  days." 

Nance  wearied  of  it  all  as  she  stood  by  the  master's  bed 
and  listened  to  the  talk  downstairs.  The  house  seemed  full 
of  men,  and  insolent  coupling  of  her  name  with  Will  Under- 
wood's, and  the  sickly,  pungent  smell  of  blood  and  smoke. 
She  was  tired  of  gallantry  and  war,  tired  of  her  own  wean- 
ness  ;  and  she  went  down  the  stair,  stepping  lightly  over  Ru- 
pert's enemy,  and  came  among  them  into  hall. 

"Your  servant,   Miss   Nance,"   said  the  red-faced  squire, 


328  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

not  guessing  what  a  figure  of  comedy  he  cut,  bowing  under 
the  folds  of  a  white  linen  coat. 

"  I  thank  you,  gentlemen,"  said  Nance  unsteadily.  "  From 
my  heart  I  thank  you.  You — you  have  done  us  service. 
And  now,  by  your  leave,  I  need  to  get  out  of  doors.  I — I 
have  been  in  prison  here." 

They  made  a  lane  of  honour  for  her.  They  had  been  lag- 
gards in  the  Prince's  service;  they  were  recusants,  come  at 
the  last  hour  to  prove  themselves ;  but  they  felt,  seeing  Nance 
step  down  between  them,  her  face  stained  with  weariness  and 
long  vigil,  that  a  royal  lady  had  come  into  their  midst. 

Nance  went  through  the  charred  doorway,  and  halted  a 
moment  as  the  pleasant  frost-wind  met  her.  The  moonlight 
and  the  clean  face  of  the  sky  gave  her  a  sense  of  ease  and 
liberty,  after  the  cramped  days  indoors.  The  siege's  uproar, 
its  stealthy  quiet,  were  lost  in  this  big  silence  of  the  frosty 
spaces  overhead. 

From  the  silence,  from  the  snowy  courtyard  at  her  feet,  a 
groan  brought  her  back  sharply  to  realities.  She  looked 
down,  and  saw  Will  Underwood  lying  face  upwards  to  the 
stars.  He,  too,  was  linen-sheeted,  as  the  squire  had  been; 
but  there  was  no  touch  of  comedy  in  his  apparel.  It  seemed 
to  Nance  that  he  was  shrouded  for  his  bier. 

They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  for  a  while,  and  some 
kindness  in  the  girl's  glance,  some  regret  to  see  him  lying 
helpless  with  the  fire  of  torment  in  his  eyes,  fired  his  courage. 

"  You  ?  "  she  said  gently.     "  You  came  to  save  the  house  ?  " 

"  No,  Nance ;  I  came  to  save  you.  That  was  my  only 
thought." 

"They  are  asking  for  you  indoors.  I  do  not  understand 
— you  are  wounded " 

"  In  your  service — yes.  They  were  right,  after  all — they 
always  said  I'd  more  luck  than  I  deserved." 

She  was  free  now  of  the  bewilderment  of  this  night  at- 
tack, the  sharp  battle  in  the  hall,  quick  and  confused  in  the 
doing.  The  moonlight  showed  her  the  face  of  a  man  in  ob- 


THE  PLEASANT  FURY  339 

vious  pain,  a  man  fighting  for  every  word  that  crossed  his 
lips ;  and  yet  he  was  smiling,  and  the  soul  of  him  was  gay. 

"  I'll  bring  help,"  she  said,  turning  toward  the  house. 

"  No;  you've  brought  help.  Nance,  I'll  not  keep  you  long. 
There  was  a  day — a  day  when  we  met  up  the  moor,  and  I 
was  your  liar,  Nance — from  heel  to  crown  I  was  your  liar — 
and  God  knows  the  shame  you  put  on  me." 

Nance,  scarce  heeding  what  she  did,  took  a  kerchief, 
stained  with  gunpowder,  from  the  pocket  of  the  riding-coat 
she  had  worn,  day  in,  day  out,  since  the  siege  began. 

"  I  keep  my  promise,  Will." 

Even  yet,  though  Nance  was  kneeling  in  the  snow  beside 
him  and  he  heard  the  pity  in  her  voice,  Will  could  not  free 
himself  from  some  remembrance  of  that  bygone  meeting. 
"As  a  flag  of  truce?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"  As  a  badge  of  honour.     You  are  free  to  wear  it." 

He  reached  out  for  her  hand,  and  put  it  to  his  lips  with  the 
reverence  learned  since  he  came  down  from  duck-shooting  to 
find  a  mortal  hurt.  "  As  God  sees  me,"  he  said,  a  pleasant 
note  of  triumph  in  his  voice — "  as  God  sees  me,  I  die  happy." 

And  then  he  turned  on  his  side.  And  the  pert  youngster 
who  had  coupled  Nance's  name  with  Will's,  coming  out  in 
search  of  the  missing  leader,  saw  the  girl  kneeling  in  the 
snow  and  heard  her  sobs.  And  he  crept  back  into  the  hall, 
ashamed  in  some  queer  way. 

"  Why,  lad,  have  you  seen  a  ghost  out  yonder?  "  asked  the 
red-faced  squire. 

"  No,  sir,"  the  boy  answered  gravely.  "  It  is  as  I  said — 
Will  is  with  Nance  Demaine,  and— and  I  think  we'd  better 
leave  them  to  it." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   RIDING  OUT 

SIR  JASPER,  out  at  Ben  Shackleton's  farm,  had  been  no  easy 
guest  to  entertain  since  he  sought  refuge  there  from  the  pur- 
suit of  Goldstein's  men.  He  slept  for  twelve  hours,  after 
they  had  laid  him  on  the  lang-settle  and  stopped  the  bleeding 
from  his  wound;  and  then,  for  an  hour,  he  had  lain  between 
sleep  and  waking;  and,  after  that,  he  was  keen  to  be  up  and 
doing. 

Shackleton's  wife,  dismayed  because  her  goodman  had  not 
returned  long  since  from  carrying  his  message  to  Windy- 
hough,  was  sharp  of  tongue,  and  lacking  in  deference  a  lit- 
tle, as  the  way  of  the  sturdy  farm-folk  is  when  they  are  trou- 
bled. 

"  As  you  wish,  Sir  Jasper,"  she  said  tartly.  "  Just  get  up 
and  stand  on  your  two  feet,  and  see  how  it  feels,  like." 

He  got  stubbornly  to  his  feet,  and  moved  a  pace  or  two 
across  the  floor;  and  then  he  grew  weak  and  dizzy,  and  was 
glad  to  find  his  way  again  to  the  lang-settle. 

"  Ay,  so ! "  said  Shackleton's  wife.  "  It's  good  for  men- 
folk to  learn,  just  time  and  time,  how  they  can  go  weak  as  a 
little  babby." 

"  My  wife  needs  me  yonder." 

"  Ay,  and  I  need  my  goodman  here.  Exchange  is  no  rob- 
bery, Sir  Jasper." 

"  She  is  in  danger,"  he  snapped,  with  a  sick  man's  petu- 
lance. 

"  Well,  so's  my  man,  I  reckon — they've  kept  him  yonder,  or 
he'd  have  been  home  lang-syne." 

Then  weariness  conquered  Sir  Jasper;  and  he  slept  again 
till  that  day  passed,  and  the  next  night,  and  half  through  the 

330 


THE  RIDING  OUT  331 

morning.  It  was  his  respite  from  remembrance  of  the  re- 
treat from  Derby,  from  the  wound  that  kept  him  out  of  ac- 
tion. 

"  You'll  do  nicely  now,"  said  Shackleton's  wife,  glancing 
round  from  ironing  a  shirt  of  her  husband's.  "You've  got 
the  look  of  your  old  self  about  you,  Sir  Jasper." 

The  wound  itself  was  of  less  account  than  the  bleeding  that 
had  followed  it;  and  by  nightfall  he  was  waiting  impatiently 
until  the  shepherd  saddled  his  mare  and  brought  her  to  the 
door. 

The  farm-wife  looked  him  up  and  down,  with  the  frank 
glance  that  had  only  friendliness  and  extreme  solicitude  be- 
hind it.  "  Eh,  but  you  look  sick  and  wambly,"  she  said. 
"  Can  you  sit  a  horse,  Sir  Jasper?  " 

"  I  am  hale  and  well,"  he  answered — fretfully,  because  he 
felt  his  weakness  and  because  he  was  fearing  for  his  wife. 

He  got  to  saddle,  and  the  mare  and  he  went  slushing  up 
and  down  the  mile  of  bridle-track  that  separated  them  from 
home.  He  was  no  longer  conscious  of  pain  or  weakness ;  his 
heart  was  on  fire  to  see  his  wife  again,  to  know  her  safe.  At 
the  turn  of  the  hill,  just  beyond  the  gallows-tree  that  stood 
naked  against  the  sky,  he  saw  Windyhough  lying  below  him, 
the  moonlight  keen  on  snowy  chimney-stacks  and  gables. 

"  Thank  God ! "  he  said,  seeing  how  peaceful  the  old  house 
lay. 

A  little  later  he  came  to  the  splintered  gateway,  and  his 
heart  misgave  him.  The  mare  fidgeted  and  would  not  go 
forward ;  and,  looking  down,  he  saw  a  dead  man  lying  in  the 
moonlight — the  trooper  at  whom  Rupert  had  fired  his  maiden 
battle-shot. 

He  got  from  saddle,  left  the  mare  to  her  own  devices,  and 
ran  across  the  courtyard.  Here,  too,  were  bodies  lying  in 
the  snow.  The  main  door  was  gone,  save  for  a  charred 
framework  through  which  the  moon  showed  him  a  disordered 
hall. 

Without  thought  of  his  own  safety  here,  with  a  single,  sav- 


332  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

age  purpose  to  find  his  wife — dead  or  worse — he  crossed  the 
hall;  and  at  the  stairway  foot  he  met  the  red-faced  squire, 
coming  down  with  a  brisk  tread  surprising  in  a  man  of  his 
bulk  and  goutiness. 

"  By  gad !  we're  too  busy  with  flesh  and  blood  to  care  for 
ghosts,"  said  the  squire,  halting  suddenly.  His  laugh  was 
boisterous,  but  it  covered  a  superstition  lively  and  afraid. 

"  A  truce  to  nonsense,"  snapped  Sir  Jasper.  "  Where  is 
Lady  Royd?" 

"  Asleep — and  her  toy  spaniel,  too."  The  squire  had  come 
down  and  touched  Sir  Jasper  to  make  sure  that  he  was  of 
this  world.  "  I  should  poison  that  dog  if  it  were  mine,  Royd. 
It  yapped  at  every  wounded  man  we  carried  in." 

"  My  wife  is  asleep — and  safe?"  asked  the  other,  as  if  he 
feared  the  answer. 

"  We're  all  safe — except  poor  Will  Underwood ;  and  all 
busy,  thanks  to  that  game  pup  of  yours.  For  a  scholar,  he 
shaped  well." 

"  Rupert  kept  the  house  ?  "  Through  all  his  trouble  and  un- 
rest Sir  Jasper  tried  to  grasp  the  meaning  of  the  charred 
doorway,  the  groans  of  wounded  men  above.  "  It  did  not 
seem  so  when  I  came  indoors." 

So  then  the  Squire  told  him,  all  in  clipped,  hurried  speech, 
the  way  of  it.  And  Sir  Jasper  forgot  his  wife,  forgot  his 
wound,  and  all  the  misery  that  had  dogged  his  steps  since 
Derby.  He  had  an  heir  at  last.  Rupert,  the  well-beloved, 
had  proved  himself. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  he  asked  huskily. 

"  Asleep,  too,  by  your  leave.  No,  we'll  not  wake  him. 
He's  had  three  days  of  gunpowder  and  wakefulness,  Royd. 
Let  him  sleep  the  clock  round." 

The  squire,  seeing  how  weak  Sir  Jasper  was,  took  him  by 
the  arm  into  the  dining-chamber,  filled  him  a  measure  of 
brandy,  and  pushed  him  gently  into  a  chair. 

"  I  came  late  to  the  wedding,  Royd,"  he  said  dryly,  "  but 
I'm  in  command  here,  till  you  find  your  strength." 


THE  RIDING  OUT  333 

Sir  Jasper,  for  the  first  time  since  Derby,  was  content. 
His  wife  was  safe,  and  his  heir  was  a  man  at  last.  And  the 
red- faced  squire,  whom  he  had  always  liked,  was  no  recusant, 
after  all. 

"You  talked  of  carrying  wounded  men  in?"  he  asked  by 
and  by.  "  I  can  hear  them  crying  out  for  thirst." 

;'  That's  where  they  have  us,  Royd,  these  flea-bitten  men 
of  George's,"  said  the  squire,  with  another  boisterous  laugh. 
"  They  were  crying  like  stuck  pigs— out  in  the  cold— and  we 
had  to  take  them  in.  Windyhough  is  a  hospital,  I  tell  you, 
owing  to  the  queer  Catholic  training  that  weakens  us. 
They'd  not  have  done  as  much  for  us." 

"  That  is  their  loss — and,  as  for  training,  I  think  Rupert 
has  proved  it  fairly  right." 

"  Well,  yes.  But  I  hate  wounds,  Royd,  and  all  the  sick- 
room messiness.  It's  an  ill  business,  tending  men  you'd 
rather  see  lying  snugly  in  their  graves." 

Sir  Jasper  laughed,  not  boisterously  at  all,  but  with  the 
tranquil  gaiety  that  comes  of  sadness.  "  There  was  a  worse 
business,  friend,  at  Derby.  I  went  through  it;  and,  I  tell 
you,  nothing  matters  very  much — nothing  will  ever  matter 
again,  unless  the  Prince  finds  his  battle  up  in  Scotland." 

And  by  and  by  they  fell  to  talking  of  ways  and  means. 
Sir  Jasper  was  pledged  to  rejoin  the  Prince,  and  would  not 
break  his  word.  Neither  would  he  leave  his  son  at  Windy- 
hough  a  second  time,  among  the  women  and  old  men.  And 
yet — there  was  his  wife,  who  needed  him. 

The  red-faced  squire,  blunt  and  full  of  cheery  common 
sense,  resolved  his  difficulties.  "  Cannot  you  trust  us,  Royd  ? 
There'll  be  six  men  of  us — seven,  counting  Simon  Foster, 
who  is  getting  better  of  his  hurt — and  only  wounded  prisoners 
to  guard." 

"  What  if  another  company  of  roving  blackguards  rides 
this  way?  " 

"  Not  likely.  By  your  own  showing,  the  hunt  goes  wide 
of  this.  Besides,  we  shall  get  a  new  doorway  up.  Rupert 


334  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

held  the  house  with  two  to  help  him — seven  of  us  could  do 
the  like." 

Sir  Jasper  began  to  pace  restlessly  up  and  down.  "You 
forget,"  he  said  sharply,  "  it  will  be  my  wife  you're  guarding 
— my  wife — and  she  means  so  much  to  me,  old  friend." 

"  We  know,  we  know.  D'ye  think  we'd  let  hurt  come  to 
her?  Listen,  Royd.  When  these  jackanapes  who  groan  in 
German  are  fit  to  look  after  themselves,  we'll  leave  them  to 
it,  and  take  all  your  women  with  us  to  my  house  at  Ravens- 
cliff.  And  word  shall  go  round  that  Lady  Royd — the  toast 
of  the  county  to  this  day — needs  gentlemen  about  her.  She'll 
not  lack  friends,  I  tell  you." 

The  squire's  glance  fell  as  it  met  Sir  Jasper's.  His  con- 
science was  uneasy  still,  and  he  fancied  a  rebuke  that  was 
far  from  Royd's  thoughts.  So  had  the  Prince  been  the 
county's  toast — until  the  Prince  asked  instant  service. 

"  I  can  trust  you,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  with  sudden  decision. 
"  Guard  her — as  God  sees  us,  she  is — is  very  dear  to  me." 

Then,  after  a  restless  silence,  Sir  Jasper's  doubts,  bred  of 
bodily  weakness,  ran  into  a  new  channel. 

"  There's  yourself  to  think  of  in  all  this — your  own  wife, 
and  your  house.  The  Hanover  men  will  not  be  gentle  if  we 
lose  the  battle  up  in  Scotland." 

"  Royd,"  said  the  red-faced  squire,  not  fearing  now  to  meet 
his  glance,  "  we've  come  badly  out  of  this,  we  fools  who 
stayed  at  home.  There's  been  no  flavour  in  our  wine;  we've 
been  poor  fox-hunters,  not  caring  whether  we  were  in  at  the 
death  or  no — you'll  not  grudge  us  our  one  chance  to  play  the 
man?" 

Sir  Jasper  understood  at  last  that  recusants  can  have  their 
evil  moments,  can  find  worse  cheer  than  he  had  met  at  Derby. 

"  I  warn  you,  Ned,  there's  small  chance  of  our  winning 
now.  For  old  friendship's  sake,  I'll  not  let  you  go  blindly 
into  this." 

"  What's  the  ballad  Nance  Demaine  sings  so  nattily  ? 
'Life's  losing  and  land's  losing,  and  what  were  they  to  gi'e? 


THE  RIDING  OUT  335 

Oh,  it's  all  true,  Royd.  We  have  our  chance  at  last — and, 
gad !  we  mean  to  take  it." 

"  It  bites  deep,  Ned,"  said  the  other,  with  grave  concern. 
"  It  bites  deep,  this  wife  losing  and  land  losing." 

"  Not  as  deep  as  shame,"  snapped  the  red-faced  squire. 
"  I'm  a  free  man  of  my  hands  again.  And  now,  by  the  look 
of  you,  you'd  best  get  to  bed.  Honest  man  to  honest  man, 
Royd,  you're  dead-beat?" 

"  Yes — if  the  house  is  safe,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  with  unalter- 
able simplicity. 

"Oh,  trust  me,  Royd!  I'm  in  command  here — and,  I  tell 
you,  all  is  safe." 

He  went  upstairs,  and  into  his  wife's  room.  There  was  a 
candle  burning  on  the  table  at  her  elbow,  and  he  forgot  his 
own  need  of  sleep  in  watching  hers.  The  strain  of  the  past 
days  was  gone.  She  lay  like  a  child  at  peace  with  God  and 
man,  and  the  peevish,  day-time  wrinkles  were  smoothed  away ; 
and  she  was  dreaming,  had  her  husband  known  it,  of  the 
days  when  she  had  come,  as  a  bride,  to  Windyhough. 

A  gusty  tenderness,  a  reverence  beyond  belief,  came  to  Sir 
Jasper.  He  forgot  all  hardships  Derby  way.  The  simple 
heart  of  him  was  content  with  the  day's  journey,  so  long  as  it 
brought  him  this — his  wife  secure,  with  happiness  asleep 
about  her  face. 

He  stooped  to  touch  her,  and  the  spaniel  sleeping  at  her 
side  stood  up  and  barked  at  him,  rousing  the  mistress. 

"  Be  quiet !  "  she  said  sleepily.  "  I  was  dreaming — that 
my  lord  came  home  again,  forgiving  all  my  foolishness." 

The  spaniel  only  barked  the  more.  And  Sir  Jasper,  who 
was  by  way  of  being  rough  just  now  with  all  intruders,  big 
or  little,  pitched  him  out  on  to  the  landing. 

His  wife  was  awake  now,  and  she  looked  at  him  with  wide 
eyes  of  misery.  "  You  have  kept  tryst,  my  dear.  You  prom- 
ised— when  you  rode  out— that,  if  you  died,  you  would  come 
to  tell  me  of  it.  And  I— God  help  me!— was  dreaming  that 
we  were  young  again  together." 


336  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"We're  very  young  again  together,  Agnes,"  said  Sir  Jas- 
per, with  a  quiet  laugh.  "  Do  I  look  so  ghostly  that  you  all 
mistake  me  for  a  wraith?" 

She  touched  him,  as  the  squire  had  done — gently  at  first, 
and  then  with  gaining  confidence.  "  You  look — as  I  have 
never  seen  you,  husband ;  you  are  as  grey  of  face  as  Rupert, 
when  his  work  was  done  and  they  carried  him  upstairs.  Your 
wound — Jasper,  it  is  not  mortal?" 

"  It  is  healing  fast.  There,  wife,  you  are  only  half  awake, 
and  I'm  dishevelled.  I  had  no  time  to  put  myself  in  order. 
I  was  too  eager  just — just  to  see  my  wife  again." 

And  Lady  Royd  was  wide  awake  now.  Not  only  the  hus- 
band, but  the  lover,  had  returned.  "  I  shall  have  to  take 
care  of  you,  Jasper,"  she  said,  with  the  woman's  need  to  be 
protective  when  she  is  happy.  "  You'll  need  nursing, 
and " 

"  I  need  sleep,"  growled  Sir  Jasper — "  just  a  few  hours' 
sleep,  Agnes,  and — and  forgetfulness  of  Derby." 

"  Ah,  sleep !  That  has  been  our  need,  too.  We — we  none 
of  us  went  out  with  you,  Jasper — but  we  kept  the  house. 
And  we  learned  what  sleep  means — more  than  food  or  drink, 
more  than  any  gift  that  we  can  ask." 

It  is  in  the  hurried,  perilous  moments  that  men  £ome  to 
understanding.  Sir  Jasper,  by  the  little  said  and  the  much 
left  unsaid,  knew  that  his  wife,  according  to  her  strength, 
had  taken  a  brave  part  in  this  enterprise. 

"  You  talk  of  what  old  campaigners  know,"  he  said. 

And  there  was  a  little,  pleasant  silence;  and  after  that 
Lady  Royd  looked  into  her  husband's  face. 

"  You  are  home  again — to  stay  until  your  wound  is 
healed  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  my  dear.  I  take  the  road  to-morrow.  The  Prince 
needs  me."' 

She  turned  her  face  to  the  wall.  And  temptation  played 
like  a  windy  night  about  Sir  Jasper,  taking  him  at  the  ebb 
of  his  strength,  as  all  cowards  do.  He  was  more  weak  of 


THE  RIDING  OUT  337 

6ody  than  she  guessed;  he  had  given  really  of  himself,  and 
surely  he  had  earned  a  little  ease,  a  sitting  by  the  hearth 
while  he  told  his  wife,  this  once  again,  what  was  in  his  heart 
for  her. 

And  his  wife  turned  suddenly.  Her  eyes  were  radiant 
with  the  faith  that  siege  had  taught  her — siege,  and  the  reek 
of  gunpowder,  and  the  way  men  carried  themselves  in  the 
face  of  the  bright  comrade,  danger. 

"  Go,  Jasper — and  good  luck  to  your  riding,"  she  said 
quietly. 

At  two  of  the  next  afternoon  Sir  Jasper  and  Rupert  got 
to  saddle ;  and  the  father,  knowing  the  way  of  his  son's 
heart,  rode  on  ahead  down  the  long,  sloping  bridle-track, 
leaving  him  to  say  good-bye  to  Nance  Demaine. 

Nance  had  been  used  to  courage,  as  she  was  used  to  wind 
on  the  hills;  but  all  her  world  was  slipping  from  her  now. 
She  had  given  her  kerchief  to  Will  Underwood,  from  pity 
for  a  love  that  was  dead  and  hidden  out  of  sight;  she  had 
gone  through  stress  and  turmoil ;  and  at  the  end  of  all  Rupert, 
her  one  friend  here,  was  riding  out  with  his  eyes  on  the  hills, 
though  she  stood  at  his  stirrup  and  sought  his  glance. 

"  God  speed,  Rupert !  "  she  said. 

He  stooped  to  kiss  her  hand,  but  his  thoughts  were  far 
away.  "  It  seemed  all  past  praying  for,  Nance — and  it  has 
come." 

"  What  has  come  ? "  she  asked — peevishly,  because  she 
was  tired  and  very  lonely.  "  Fire,  and  sleeplessness,  and  the 
cries  of  wounded  men — what  else  has  come  to  Windyhough  ?  " 

"  Not  Stuart  songs,"  he  answered  gravely.  "  Stuart  deeds 
are  coming  my  way,  Nance,  at  long  last." 

"  So  you — are  glad  to  go,  Rupert  ?  " 

He  looked  down  at  her  and  for  a  moment  he  forgot  the 
road  ahead.  He  saw  only  Nance — Nance,  whom  he  had  loved 
from  boyhood — Nance,  with  the  wholesome,  bonnie  face  that 
discerning  men,  who  could  see  the  soul  behind  it,  named  beau- 
tiful. All  his  keen  young  love  for  her  was  needing  outlet 


338  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

on  the  sudden.  She  was  so  near,  so  friendly;  and  about  her 
was  a  clear,  eager  starshine,  such  as  lovers  see. 

The  siege,  and  killing  of  a  man  here  and  there,  stepped  in 
and  conquered  this  old  weakness  that  was  hindering  him. 
"  Nance,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  come  back — when  I'm 
your  proven  man." 

It  was  so  he  went  quietly  out  into  the  sunlight  that  had 
struggled  free  awhile  of  the  grey,  wintry  clouds.  And  again 
Nance  was  chilled,  as  she  had  been  when  the  Loyal  Meet  rode 
out — years  ago,  it  seemed — without  sound  of  drum  or  any 
show  of  pageantry.  She  had  not  learned  even  yet  that  men 
with  a  single  purpose  go  about  their  business  quietly,  not  heed- 
ing bugle-calls  of  this  world's  sounding. 

She  watched  him  go,  old  pity  and  old  liking  stirred.  And 
she  longed  to  call  him  back,  but  pride  forbade  her. 

Simon  Foster  came  grumbling  through  the  charred  court- 
yard gate.  He  had  stood  at  the  hilltop,  watching  the  old 
master  and  the  young  go  out  along  the  track  he  was  too  in- 
firm to  follow;  and  there  was  a  deep,  abiding  bitterness  in 
his  heart. 

"They  shouldn't  have  gi'en  me  a  taste  o'  fight,  Miss 
Nance,"  he  said.  "  I  call  it  fair  shameful  just  to  whet  a 
body's  appetite,  and  then  give  him  naught  solid  to  follow. 
Oh,  I  tell  ye,  it's  ill  work  staying  at  home,  tied  up  wi'  rheu- 
matiz." 

Nance  was  glad  of  the  respite  from  her  own  muddled 
thoughts,  from  the  sense  of  loss  that  Rupert  had  left  her  as 
a  parting  gift.  "  It  is  time  you  settled  down,"  she  said,  with 
a  touch  of  the  humour  that  was  never  far  from  her.  "  And 
you  have  Martha  to  make  up  for  all  you're  losing." 

"  Ay,  true,"  grumbled  Simon,  his  eyes  far  away ;  "  but 
Martha  could  have  bided  till  I'd  had  my  fill,  like.  She's  pa- 
tient— it's  in  the  build  of  her — but,  I  never  was." 

"Patience?"  said  Nance.  "It  is  in  no  woman's  build, 
Simon.  We  have  to  learn  it,  while  our  men  are  enjoying  the 
free  weather." 


THE  RIDING  OUT  339 

Rupert  had  overtaken  his  father  on  the  winding,  downhill 
track,  and  they  rode  in  silence  together  for  a  mile  or  so,  each 
thinking  of  the  other  and  of  the  work  ahead.  It  was  a 
pleasant,  deep  communion  for  them  both;  and  the  son  re- 
membered, for  the  last  time,  how  Sir  Jasper  had  lied  to  him 
in  giving  him  the  house  of  Windyhough  to  keep.  From  the 
soldiery  learnt  there,  from  the  peril  waiting  for  them  ahead, 
Rupert  had  won  the  priceless  gift,  forgiveness — a  herb  trouble- 
some and  hard  to  find. 

"  You're  silent,  lad,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  as  they  came  to  the 
stretch  of  level  track  that  took  them  right-handed  into  the 
Langton  road. 

"  I  was  thinking — that  dreams  come  true,  sir,  as  I  said  to 
Nance  just  now." 

Clouds  were  hurrying  up  against  the  sun — yellow,  evil 
clouds,  packed  thick  with  snow — and  a  bitter  wind  was  ris- 
ing. The  going  underfoot  was  vile.  Their  errand  was  to 
join  an  army  in  retreat,  with  likelihood  that  they  would  dine 
and  breakfast  on  disaster.  And  yet — because  God  made  them 
so — they  found  tranquillity.  Sir  Jasper  had  dreamed  of  this, 
since  his  first  gladness  that  he  had  an  heir,  his  first  sorrow 
when  he  admitted  to  himself,  grudgingly,  that  the  boy  was  not 
as  strong  as  he  had  wished.  And  Rupert,  while  his  shoulders 
found  their  scholarly  droop  in  reading  old  books  at  Windy- 
hough,  had  shared  the  same  dream — that  one  day,  by  a  mir- 
acle, he  might  ride  out  with  his  father  on  the  Stuart's  busi- 
ness. 

And  they  were  here  together.  And  nothing  mattered, 
somehow,  as  the  way  of  men  is  when  their  souls  have  taken 
the  open,  friendly  road. 

They  rode  hard  in  pursuit  of  the  Prince's  army,  nursing 
their  horses'  strength  as  far  as  eagerness  would  let  them; 
and,  at  long  last,  they  overtook  their  friends  on  the  windy 
summit  of  Shap  Fell,  where  the  Stuart  army  was  bivouacked 
for  the  night. 

Sir  Jasper  asked  audience  of  the  Prince,  and  found  him 


340  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

sitting  in  his  tent,  eating  a  stew  of  sheep's  kidneys — the  one 
luxury  royalty  could  command  at  the  moment.  And  the 
Prince  rose,  forgetting  his  quality,  in  frank  welcome  of  this 
man  who  had  shared  the  evil  Derby  days  with  him. 

"  I  thought  you  dead,  sir ;  and  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you — 
alive,  but  thinner  than  you  were." 

No  detail  ever  escaped  the  Prince's  eye,  when  he  was 
concerned  about  the  welfare  of  his  friends;  and  the  solici- 
tude, the  affection  of  this  greeting  atoned  for  many  hard- 
ships. 

"  I  was  wounded,  your  Highness,  or  should  have  been  with 
you  long  since." 

"  So  much  I  knew.  No  other  hindrance  would  have  kept 
you,"  said  the  Prince,  with  flattering  trust. 

"  I  bring  a  volunteer  with  me." 

"He  must  be  staunch  indeed!  A  volunteer  to  join  us  in 
these  days  of  havoc?  Has  he  been  jilted  by  one  of  your 
Lancashire  witches,  that  he's  eager  to  trudge  through  this 
evil  weather  ?  " 

"  No.  He  has  just  won  through  a  siege  on  your  behalf — the 
siege  of  my  own  house — and  could  not  rest  till  he  had  seen 
you." 

The  Prince  had  been  in  a  black  mood  of  despair  not  long 
ago.  He  was  alone  in  his  tent,  with  none  to  need  him  for 
the  moment,  none  to  know  if  he  were  sick  at  heart.  Like 
all  men,  great  or  small,  he  was  at  once  the  victim  and  the  cap- 
tain of  the  temperament  given  him  at  birth ;  and  none  but 
the  Stuarts  knew  how  dearly  they  purchased — through  lonely 
hours  of  misery,  self-doubt,  denial  of  all  hope — the  charm, 
the  gay,  unyielding  courage  that  touched  the  dullest  wayfarers 
with  some  fine  hint  of  betterment. 

Sir  Jasper's  coming  had  cleared  the  Prince's  outlook. 
In  the  man's  simplicity,  in  the  obvious  love  he  held 
for  this  unknown  volunteer,  the  Stuart  read  a  request  un- 
spoke. 

"  Present  him,"  he  said,  with  the  smile  that  had  tempted 


THE  RIDING  OUT  341 

men  and  women  alike  to  follow  him  for  love.  "  Hell  for- 
give me  if  I  finish  this  stew  of  kidneys?  For  I  own  I'm 
devilish  hungry." 

Through  the  toilsome  ride  from  Windyhough  to  Shap, 
Rupert  had  talked  of  the  Prince,  and  only  of  the  Prince;  and 
Sir  Jasper  went  now  to  find  his  heir,  proud — as  simple  men 
are — of  the  transparent  diplomacy  that  had  secured  Rupert 
his  heart's  desire  so  promptly.  He  did  not  find  him  at  once 
among  the  busy  camp;  and  when  they  were  admitted  to  the 
royal  tent,  his  Highness  had  finished  his  meal,  and  was  smok- 
ing the  disreputable  pipe  that  had  been  his  friend  through- 
out this  weary,  meaningless  retreat. 

"  My  son,  your  Highness,"  said  Sir  Jasper. 

Rupert,  coming  out  of  the  stark  night  outside,  blinked  as 
he  met  the  flickering  light  of  the  rush-candles  within  the 
tent.  Then  his  eyes  cleared,  and  some  trouble  took  him  by 
the  throat.  He  was  young,  and  in  the  Presence;  and  his 
dreams  had  been  greatly  daring,  sweeping  up  to  the  stars  of 
Stuart  loyalty. 

"  I  commend  you,  sir,"  said  the  Prince,  looking  the  lad 
through  and  through,  as  his  way  was,  to  learn  what  shape  he 
had.  "  There  are  apt  to  be  volunteers  when  a  cause  is  gain- 
ing, but  few  when  it's  escaping  to  the  hills." 

The  heart  of  a  man,  kept  bridled  for  five-and-twenty  years, 
knows  no  reticence  when  it  meets  at  last  the  comrade  of  its 
long  desire. 

"Your  Highness,"  said  Rupert,  with  a  simplicity  larger 
than  his  father's,  because  less  wayworn,  "  I  begin  to  live.  I 
asked  to  serve  you,  and — and  the  prayer  is  granted." 

"  You  join  us  in  retreat?"  said  the  Prince,  touched  by  the 
pity  of  this  hero-worship. 

"  I  join  you  either  way.     I've  found— why,  happiness,   I 

think." 

The  Prince  was  a  few  months  younger  than  himself;  but 
he  touched  him  now  on  the  shoulder,  as  a  father  might. 
"Good  luck  to  your  honour  lad!"  he  said.  "Clean  the 


S42  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

world's  mud  off  from  it  whenever  you  find  leisure,  as  you 
polish  a  sword-blade.    That's  the  soldier's  gospel." 

The  next  day  they  were  on  the  march  again.  The 
weather  was  not  gentle  on  the  top  of  Shap  Fell,  and  the  red 
sun,  rising  into  a  clear  and  frosty  sky,  showed  them  a  lonely 
and  a  naked  land — hills  reaching  out  to  farther  hills,  desolate, 
snow-white,  and  dumb.  Not  a  bird  called.  The  Highland- 
ers, with  their  steady,  swinging  strides,  the  horsemen  moving 
at  a  sober  pace,  were  ringed  about  with  silence.  Before 
nightfall,  however,  they  reached  Clifton  village,  and  here  at 
last  they  found  diversion  from  the  day's  austerity. 

The  Prince,  with  the  greater  part  of  his  cavalry,  had  pushed 
forward  to  Penrith;  but  Lord  Elcho,  who,  with  Sir  Jasper's 
horsemen,  had  charge  of  the  rear,  gave  a  sharp  sigh  of 
thanksgiving  when  a  messenger  brought  news  that  the  Duke 
of  Cumberland,  with  his  own  regiment  and  Kingston's  light 
horse,  were  close  at  his  heels  after  ten  hours'  hard  pursuit 
Elcho  was  glad  even  of  the  long  odds  against  him,  knowing 
that  his  Highlanders  were  wearying  for  battle,  and  made  his 
•>  dispositions  with  a  cheery  sense  that  the  Duke  had  done  them 
a  good  turn  in  overtaking  them. 

Taking  full  advantage  of  the  cover  afforded  by  the  coun- 
try, Elcho  placed  his  men  behind  the  hedges  and  stone  walls, 
and  as  the  first  of  the  dusk  came  down  the  Duke's  soldiery 
delivered  their  attack.  It  was  a  sharp,  bewildering  skirmish, 
ended  speedily  by  nightfall;  but  to  Rupert,  fighting  in  the 
open  after  the  stifled  days  at  Windyhough,  it  was  easy  to  show 
a  gallantry  that  roused  the  applause  of  men  grown  old  and 
hard  to  combat.  And  ever  he  thought  less  of  Nance,  and 
more  of  this  new  comrade,  danger,  whose  face  was  bright, 
alluring. 

They  left  the  Duke  with  his  dead;  and,  because  they  were 
hopelessly  outnumbered  if  the  daylight  found  them  still  in 
possession  of  Clifton,  they  went  through  the  black  night  to 
Penrith,  bringing  news  to  the  Prince  of  their  little  victory. 
And  after  that  it  was  forward  to  Carlisle. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   FORLORN    HOPE 

IT  can  be  bitter  cold  in  Carlisle,  when  the  wind  raves  down 
from  the  Border  country  and  the  rain  will  not  be  quiet;  but 
never  had  the  grey  town  shown  more  cheerless  than  it  did  to 
the  Prince's  eyes  when,  six  days  before  Christmas,  he  rode 
in  with  his  retreating  army.  The  brief,  sudden  warmth  of 
the  victory  at  Clifton  was  forgotten.  They  had  travelled  all 
night,  over  distressing  roads,  fetlock  deep  in  mud.  They 
were  strained  to  breaking-point,  after  incessant  marches,  day 
after  day  seeing  the  footmen  cover  their  twenty  miles  with 
bleeding  feet.  They  were  disillusioned,  hopeless,  sport  for 
any  man  to  laugh  at  whose  faith  went  no  farther  than  this 
world's  limits. 

For  the  Prince,  when  he  got  inside  the  Castle,  and  gave 
audience  to  Mr.  Hamilton,  the  governor,  there  was  worse 
trouble  brewing.  Hamilton,  caring  only  for  the  Stuart's 
safety,  was  resolute  to  hold  Carlisle  against  the  pursuing 
Hanoverians,  encamped  at  Hesket,  within  an  easy  day's 
march  of  the  city.  He  pointed  out,  with  a  clear  reasoning 
beyond  dispute,  that  the  Castle  was  strong  to  stand  a  siege, 
that  the  Duke  of  Cumberland  would  halt  to  capture  it,  know- 
ing it  the  key  of  the  Border  country,  that  a  small  garrison 
could  ensure  the  Stuart  army  a  respite  from  pursuit  until  they 
joined  their  friends  in  Scotland. 

"  I  decline,  Mr.  Hamilton,"  said  the  Prince  sharply.  "  You 
can  hold  out — for  how  long?  " 

"For  a  week  at  least,  your  Highness— ten  days,  may  be. 
They  say  the  Duke  has  no  artillery  with  him  yet." 

"  But  the  end — the  end  will  be  the  same,  soon  or  late." 

"A  pleasant  end,  if  it  secures  your  safety.    Oh,  think, 

343 


344  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

your  Highness!  You've  five  thousand  men  with  you,  and  we 
are  less  than  a  hundred,  all  told.  I  tell  you,  I  have  thought 
out  all  this.  The  garrison  has  thought  it  out,  and — and  we 
are  bent  on  it." 

"  My  men  would  not  buy  safety  at  the  price.  How  could 
they?  No,  no,  Mr.  Hamilton.  Your  garrison  shall  take 
their  chance  in  the  open  with  us." 

Yet  that  night  the  Prince  could  only  sleep  by  snatches. 
Throughout  this  swift  campaign,  opposed  to  all  the  prudences 
of  warfare,  his  thought  that  had  been  constantly  for  the  welfare 
of  his  soldiery,  so  far  as  he  could  compass  it.  And  Hamil- 
ton had  planned  a  gallant  chance  of  safety  for  them.  Un- 
doubtedly, the  plan  was  good. 

To  and  fro  his  thoughts  went,  and  they  gained  clearness  as 
the  night  went  on.  For  himself,  he  had  no  care  either  way. 
He  had  left  hope  behind  at  Derby,  for  his  part.  His  heart 
was  not  broken  yet,  but  it  was  breaking;  and,  if  he  had 
found  leisure  during  this  wakeful  night  for  one  private, 
selfish  prayer,  it  would  have  been  that  he  might  die  at  dawn, 
facing  the  Duke's  motley  army  of  pursuit.  For  the  Prince 
was  not  himself  only,  fighting  his  battle  against  circumstance 
with  a  single  hand;  he  was  bone  of  the  Stuart  fathers  who 
had  gone  before,  and  death  had  always  seemed  as  good  a 
friend  as  life,  so  long  as  it  found  him  with  straight  shoulders 
and  head  up  to  the  skies. 

There  was  the  garrison  here,  resolved  to  die  with  gallan- 
try. There  was  his  army,  horsemen  saddle-sore  and  footmen 
going  with  bleeding  feet  for.  Stuart  love.  And  one  or  other 
must  be  sacrificed.  It  was  no  easy  riddle  for  any  man  to 
solve — least  of  all  for  a  Prince  whose  soul  knew  deeper  sick- 
ness than  usual  men's,  whose  body  was  racked  by  long  riding 
through  wet  roads.  He  had  an  aching  tooth,  moreover, 
that  moved  him  to  get  up  at  last,  and  light  his  black  clay 
pipe,  and  pace  up  and  down  the  room  allotted  to  him  in  the 
castle. 

He  was  no  figure  to  entice  the  ladies  who  had  danced  with 


THE  FORLORN  HOPE  345 

him,  some  months  ago,  at  Holyrood.  It  was  the  man's  busi- 
ness that  claimed  him  now,  and  he  fought  out  the  battle  of 
Stuart  pity  against  the  bigger,  urgent  need. 

At  dawn  he  went  down,  and  met  the  Governor  coming  up 
the  stair.  "Your  garrison  can  have  their  wish,  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton," he  said  quietly.  "It  seems  the  better  of  two  evil 
ways." 

"  Can  you  spare  twenty  of  your  men,  your  Highness  ? 
Some  few  of  us  have  fallen  sick  since  you  marched  south,  and 
we  need  strengthening." 

And  the  Prince  laughed,  because  pity  and  heart-sickness 
compelled  it.  "  I  can  spare  anything  just  now,"  he  said, 
"  even  to  the  half  of  my  kingdom — the  kingdom  that  Lord 
Murray  hopes  to  win  for  me  in  Scotland." 

"  There  are  better  days  coming — believe  me " 

"  To-day  is  enough  for  you  and  me,  Mr.  Hamilton.  My 
faith,  thank  God,  teaches  me  so  much,  in  spite  of  a  raging 
tooth." 

He  went  out,  and  in  the  courtyard  encountered  a  friend 
grown  dear  to  him  during  a  forward  march  and  a  retreat 
that  had  given  men  opportunities  enough  to  prove  each 
other.  It  was  Colonel  Towneley,  whose  name  even  before 
the  Rising  had  stood  for  all  that  Catholic  Lancashire  had 
found  likeable — Towneley,  who  had  joined  the  southward 
march  with  the  loyal  company  known  as  the  Manchester  Regi- 
ment; Towneley,  who  was  resolute  and  ardent  both,  two 
qualities  that  do  not  always  run  together.  "  Mr.  Hamilton  is 
insistent  to  hold  the  Castle,"  said  the  Prince,  with  the  sharp- 
ness that  was  always  a  sign  of  trouble  on  other  folk's  behalf. 

"  Yes,  your  Highness.  I  learned  yesterday  that  he's  of  my 
own  mind.  If  a  hundred  men  can  save  five  thousand,  why, 
the  issue's  plain." 

"He  needs  twenty  volunteers  to  strengthen  the  garrison." 

A  sudden  light  came  into  Towneley's  face— a  light  not  to 
be  feigned,  or  lit  by  any  random  spark  of  daring  that  dates 
no  farther  back  than  yesterday.  "By  your  leave,"  he  said 


346  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

quietly,  "  he  needs  nineteen  only.  I  am  privileged  to  be  the 
first." 

The  Prince  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  Towneley,  I 
cannot  spare  you!  Let  younger  men  step  in.  There's 
Lochiel,  and  you,  and  Sir  Jasper  Royd,  men  I've  grown  to 
love — I  cannot  spare  one  of  you." 

Towneley  met  the  other's  glance  and  smiled.  "  I  had  a 
dream  last  night,"  he  said. 

"  But,  friend,  it  is  reality  to-day." 

"  Let  me  be,  your  Highness.  Perhaps  dreams  and  reality 
are  nearer  than  we  think.  I  dreamed  that  I  knelt  with  my 
head  on  the  block,  and  heard  the  axe  whistle — and  then — I 
woke  in  Paradise." 

"  Towneley,  you're  overstrained  with  all  this  devilish  re- 
treat  " 

"  Your  pardon,  but  I  speak  of  what  I  know.  I  woke  in 
Paradise,  your  Highness,  and  found  leisure  to  think  of  my 
sins.  It  was  a  long  thinking.  But  there  was  one  comfort 
stayed  by  me — my  Stuart  loyalty.  Look  at  it  how  I  would, 
there  had  been  no  flaw  in  it.  The  dream  " — again  the  light- 
ening of  the  face — "  the  dream  contents  me." 

A  little  later  they  went  out  into  Carlisle  street.  Wet  and 
chilly  as  the  dawn  was,  both  soldiery  and  townsfolk  were 
astir;  and  the  Prince  and  Towneley,  who  had  talked  together 
of  things  beyond  this  day's  needs,  faced  the  buzz  and  clatter 
of  the  town  with  momentary  dismay. 

The  Prince  was  losing  a  friend,  tried  and  dear ;  but  he  had 
lost  more  at  Derby,  and  dogged  hardihood  returned  to  him. 
He  looked  at  the  way-worn  men  who  faced  him,  eager  to  obey 
the  Stuart  whom  they  idolised,  wherever  he  bade  them  go. 

"  We  march  north  to-day,  leaving  the  garrison  here,"  he 
said,  a  straight,  kingly  figure  of  surprising  charm — charm 
paid  for  in  advance  and  royally.  "  There  are  twenty  needed 
to  volunteer — for  certain  death,  my  friends.  I  have  no  lies 
for  you;  and  I  tell  you  it  is  certain  death." 

"  Nineteen,  your  Highness,"  corrected  Towneley. 


THE  FORLORN  HOPE  347 

Nineteen    are    needed.     I    forgot    that    Colonel    Towne- 


ley- 

He  got  no  farther  for  a  while.  Wherever  a  man  of  Lan- 
cashire stood,  in  among  the  crowd,  a  great  cheer  went  up. 
And  Towneley,  because  he  was  human,  was  glad  that  these 
folk,  who  knew  his  record,  loved  him  quite  so  well. 

What  followed  was  all  simple,  human,  soon  over,  as  great 
happenings  are  apt  to  be.  There  was  Carlisle  street,  with  its 
gaping  townsfolk,  chattering  foolishly  and  asking  each  other 
how  these  restless  Highlanders  would  affect  the  profits  of 
good  shopkeepers;  there  was  the  Castle,  set  in  a  frame  of 
murky  rain,  and,  in  front  of  it,  Prince  Charles  Edward,  ask- 
ing for  nineteen  volunteers  to  follow  Colonel  Towneley's 
lead. 

Even  the  townsfolk  ceased  balancing  their  ledgers.  They 
saw  only  one  face  in  this  crowded  street — the  Prince's,  as 
he  stood  divided  between  high  purpose  and  sorrow  for  the  toll 
of  human  sacrifice  that  is  asked  of  all  fine  enterprises.  They 
saw  him  as  he  was — no  squire  of  dames,  good  at  parlour 
tricks,  no  pretty  fool  for  ballad-mongers,  but  a  Christian 
gentleman,  with  sorrow  in  his  eyes  and  a  hard  look  of  purpose 
round  about  his  mouth  and  chin. 

"  Colonel  Towneley,"  the  Prince  was  saying  gravely,  "  your 
gallantry  has  left  me  no  choice  in  this.  God  knows  how  will- 
ingly I'd  take  your  place  "  And  then,  because  a  full  heart 
returns  to  old  simplicities,  his  voice  broke  and  he  stretched 
out  a  hand.  "  Towneley,"  he  went  on,  in  lowered  tones, 
"  we're  in  the  thick  of  trouble,  you  and  I,  and  yours  is  the 
easier  death,  I  think.  I  covet  it — and  Towneley,  journeys 
end you  know  the  daft  old  proverb." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  The  rain  dripped  cease- 
lessly. The  wind  struck  sharp  and  cruel  from  the  east,  as 
it  can  strike  nowhere  surely  as  in  Carlisle  and  grey  Edin- 
burgh. Yet  no  man  heeded,  for  they  knew  that  they  had 
royalty  among  them  here.  And  Colonel  Towneley,  for  his 
part,  began  to  sob — the  tears  coursing  down  his  rugged, 


348  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

weather-beaten  face,  not  because  he  had  to  die  within  a  week 
or  two,  but  because  he  was  compelled  to  say  goodbye  to  one 
who,  in  conduct  and  in  faith,  seemed  nearer  to  the  stars  than 
he. 

"  Towneley  " — the  Prince's  voice  was  raised  again,  for  he 
cared  not  who  knew  his  old,  deep-seated  love  of  Lancashire — 
"  Towneley,  I  was  taught  as  a  lad  to  like  your  country. 
Your  men  are  loyal — your  women  ask  it  of  you — but  I  warn 
volunteers  again  that  they  go  to  certain  death." 

"  Just  to  another  life,  your  Highness.  I  have  no  doubts ; 
believe  me,  I  have  none.  In  one  place  or  another — why,  we 
shall  see  the  Stuart  crowned  again.  Sir,  I  thank  God  for 
this  privilege;  it  goes  far  beyond  my  own  deserts." 

So  then  there  was  no  more  to  be  said.  A  great  gentleman 
had  spoken,  content  to  take  death's  hand  as  he  would  take  a 
comrade's;  and  when  such  speak,  the  lies  and  subterfuges 
of  common  life  drift  down  the  wind  like  thistledown.  The 
townsfolk  of  Carlisle  began  to  ask  themselves  if,  after  all, 
they  had  balanced  up  their  ledgers  rightly.  These  gentry, 
in  the  east  wind  and  the  rain,  seemed  to  pass  to  and  fro  a 
coinage,  not  of  metal  but  of  the  heart.  And  the  coinage 
rang  true. 

Again  there  was  a  silence.  And  then  the  Prince  asked 
gravely  who  would  volunteer  for  death.  There  was  a  noisy 
press  of  claimants  for  the  honour;  but  first  among  them  was 
Rupert,  putting  bulkier  men  aside  as  he  forced  his  way  for- 
ward to  the  Prince. 

"  I,  your  Highness,"  he  said  quietly.  "  I  was  bred  in 
Lancashire,  like  Colonel  Towneley,  and  I  claim  second 
place." 

"And  why?"  asked  two  or  three  behind  him  jealously. 

Rupert  turned,  with  a  grave,  disarming  smile.  Past  weak- 
nesses, past  dreams  of  heroism,  the  slow,  long  siege  of  Windy- 
hough,  went  by  him  as  things  remembered,  but  of  little  con- 
sequence. He  felt  master  of  himself,  master  of  them  all, 
and  with  a  touch  of  pleasant  irony  he  recalled  past  days. 


THE  FORLORN  HOPE  349 

"Because,  gentlemen,  I  am  God's  fool,  and  I  know  not 
how  to  live,  but  I  know  how  to  die.  That  is  the  one  trade 
I've  learned." 

There  was  no  answer.  There  could  be  no  answer.  This 
man  with  the  lean  body  and  the  purpose  in  his  face  was  in- 
nocent of  guile,  and  fearless,  and  strangely  dominant.  And 
then  at  last  the  Prince  smiled— the  fugitive,  rare  smile  that 
few  had  captured  since  Derby  and  retreat. 

"I  believe  you,  sir,"  he  said.  "To  know  how  to  die- 
there  is  no  better  trade  to  learn." 

Then  Maurice  pushed  forward,  eager  for  the  forlorn  hope, 
and  moved,  too,  by  the  old,  abiding  instinct  to  stand  by  and 
protect  his  elder  brother.  And  Sir  Jasper,  unswerving  until 
now,  was  moved  by  sharp  self-pity.  He  had  been  glad  that 
Rupert  should  prove  himself  at  heavy  cost ;  glad  that  he  him- 
self could  surrender  the  dearest  thing  he  had  to  the  Prince's 
need;  but  all  his  fatherhood  came  round  him,  like  a  mist  of 
sorrow. 

"  One  son  is  enough  to  give  your  Highness,"  he  said,  with 
direct  and  passionate  appeal  to  the  Prince.  "  I'm  not  too  old 
to  help  garrison  Carlisle,  and  my  wife  will  need  a  young  arm 
to  protect  her  later  on;  let  me  take  Maurice's  place." 

It  was  then  the  Prince  found  his  full  stature.  In  retreat, 
in  sickness  of  heart,  under  temptation  to  deny  his  faith  in 
God  and  man,  the  Stuart  weighed  Sir  Jasper's  needs,  found 
heart  to  understand  his  mood,  and  smiled  gravely.  "  There 
are  so  many  claimants,  sir,  that  I  shall  not  permit  more  than 
one  man  from  any  house  to  share  the  privilege.  As  for 
Maurice,  I  shall  have  need  of  him  at  my  side — and  of  you — 
I  cannot  spare  you." 

The  tradesmen  of  Carlisle  looked  on  and  wondered.  This 
was  no  shopkeeping.  From  the  sleet  and  the  tempest  that 
had  bred  them,  it  was  plain  that  these  gentry  had  learned 
knighthood.  Jack  Bownas,  the  bow-legged  tailor,  who  had 
held  stoutly  that  kings  and  gentry  were  much  like  other  men, 
save  for  the  shape  of  their  breeks,  was  bewildered  by  this 


350  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

scene  in  Carlisle's  ugly  street.  He  was  aware  that  men  are 
not  equals,  after  all,  that  some  few — gently  or  lowly  born — 
are  framed  to  claim  leadership  by  steadfastness  of  soul  and 
outlook.  "  I'd  like  to  tailor  for  yond  Prince,"  he  growled  to 
his  neighbour. 

"  So  you've  turned  Charlie's  man  ? "  the  other  answered, 
dour  and  hard — a  man  who  had  yielded  to  north-country 
weather,  instead  of  conquering  it.  "  For  me,  he's  a  plain- 
looking  chiel  enough,  as  wet  and  muddied-o'er  as  you  and 
me,  Jack." 

"  He's  a  man,  or  somewhere  near  thereby,  and  I  build  few 
suits  these  days  for  men.  I  spend  my  days  in  cutting  cloth 
for  lile,  thin-bodied  folk  like  ye." 

"  I'm  a  good  customer  o'  yours,  and  there  are  more  tailors 
in  Carlisle  than  one." 

Jack  Bownas,  prudent  by  habit,  was  loath  to  lose  custom. 
He  pondered  the  matter  for  a  moment.  "Awa  wi'  ye,"  he 
said  at  last.  "  I've  seen  the  Prince.  You  may  gang  ower 
to  Willie  Saunderson's,  if  you  wull.  He  makes  breeks  for 
little-bodied  men." 

It  was  the  tailor's  one  and  only  gift  to  the  Stuart,  this  sur- 
render of  a  customer;  but,  measured  by  his  limitations,  it 
was  a  handsome  and  a  selfless  tribute  to  the  Cause.  Born  to 
another  calling,  he  might,  with  no  greater  sacrifice,  have  set 
his  head  upon  the  block. 

And  through  all  this  to-and-froing  of  the  townsfolk, 
through  the  rain  and  the  bitter  wind  and  the  evil  luck,  the 
forlorn  hope — twenty  of  them — halted  at  the  gateway  of  the 
Castle  before  going  in. 

Rupert  turned  round  to  grip  his  father's  hand.  "  Good- 
bye, sir,"  he  said  gravely. 

"  Goodbye,  my  lad." 

And  that  was  all  their  farewell.  No  more  was  needed,  for 
all  the  rough-and-ready  training  of  their  lives  at  Windy- 
hough  had  been  a  preparation  for  some  such  gallant  death 
as  this. 


THE  FORLORN  HOPE  351 

Colonel  Towneley  marshalled  his  volunteers  in  front  of  the 
gateway,  and  the  bitter  wind  drove  through  them. 

The  Prince,  with  his  shoulders  square  to  the  wind,  took 
the  salute  of  men  soon  to  die.  And  then  he  drooped  a  little, 
as  all  his  race  did  when  they  were  thinking  of  the  needs  of 
lesser  men.  "  Friends,"  he  said,  lifting  his  head  buoyantly 
again,  "  there's  no  death — and  by  and  by  I  shall  be  privileged 
to  meet  you." 

Throughout  this  march  to  Derby,  and  back  again  to  wet 
Carlisle,  there  had  been  no  pageantry  to  tempt  men's  fancy. 
There  were  none  now.  A  score  of  soldiers,  drenched  to  the 
skin,  went  in  at  the  Castle  gateway,  and  the  rain  came  down 
in  grey,  relentless  sheets.  Prince  Charles  Edward,  as  he 
moved  slowly  north  at  the  head  of  his  five  thousand  men,  was 
still  fighting  the  raging  toothache  that  the  hardships  of  the 
march  had  brought  him.  And  toothache  sounds  a  wild,  dis- 
heartening pibroch  of  its  own. 

The  night  passed  quietly  in  Carlisle,  and  the  garrison  was 
grave  and  businesslike,  as  men  are  when  they  stand  in  face 
of  certain  death  and  begin  to  reckon  up  their  debts  to  God. 

Colonel  Towneley  had  persuaded  Hamilton  to  get  to  bed 
and  take  his  fill  of  sleep,  and  had  assumed  command;  and 
about  three  of  the  morning,  as  he  went  his  round,  he  came  on 
Rupert,  standing  at  his  post.  Towneley  had  the  soldier's 
eye  for  detail,  and  he  glanced  shrewdly  at  the  younger  man. 

"  You  were  the  first  to  volunteer  with  me?"  he  asked,  tap- 
ping him  lightly  on  the  shoulder.  "  I  remember  your  tired, 
hard-bitten  face." 

"  It  was  my  luck,  sir— and  I've  had  little  until  now." 

"You  should  not  be  sentrying  here.  We've  had  no  easy 
march  to-day.  You  had  earned  a  night's  rest." 

"  I  did  not  need  it.     I  asked  to  take  my  place  here." 

Towneley  looked  him  up  and  down,  then  tapped  him  lightly 
on  the  shoulder.  "  By  gad !  you've  suffered,  one  time  or  an- 
other," he  said  unexpectedly.  "  You're  young  to  have  earned 
that  steady  voice.  Good-night,  my  lad." 


352  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

The  next  day  was  quiet  in  Carlisle,  and  the  only  news  that 
came  into  the  Castle  was  that  the  Duke  of  Cumberland  still 
lay  at  Hesket,  awaiting  the  implements  of  siege  that  were 
slow  in  reaching  him;  but  the  day  after  he  brought  his  men 
into  the  city,  and  invested  the  town  as  closely  as  his  lack  of 
artillery  allowed.  It  was  a  mistaken  move  on  his  part,  as 
'the  shrewdest  of  his  advisers  pointed  out  to  him;  but  the 
Duke  had  answered  all  wiser  counsels  with  the  blunt  assur- 
ance that  he  had  time  to  stay  and  butcher  a  few  rebels  here 
in  Carlisle  by  way  of  whetting  his  appetite  for  the  pleasant 
shambles  to  come  afterwards  in  Scotland.  And  those  few 
who  were  English  among  his  following  were  aghast  at  the  li- 
cence Cumberland  allowed  himself  in  speaking  of  enemies, 
misguided  to  their  view,  but  brave  and  honourable  men,  con- 
tent to  face  long  odds. 

And  again  there  was  quiet  within  the  Castle.  Two  days 
passed,  and  still  the  Duke  was  waiting  for  the  artillery  that 
was  forcing  its  way  painfully  through  roads  ankle-deep  in 
mud. 

Rupert,  for  his  part,  was  entirely  at  home  with  the  work 
asked  of  him.  He  was  defending  walls  besieged,  and  nothing 
in  the  world  was  happening,  as  at  Windyhough;  but  his  task 
was  easier  here,  because  he  had  men  to  share  the  hardship 
with  him,  because  he  did  not  need,  day  by  day,  to  fight  single- 
handed  against  the  sleep  that  had  kept  him  company  in  Lan- 
cashire. 

Hamilton,  the  Governor,  and  Colonel  Towneley — seasoned 
men  both — were  astonished  by  the  toughness  and  knowledge 
of  defence  shown  by  this  lean-bodied  lad  whose  energy  seemed 
tireless.  And  then  they  learned  from  one  of  the  Lanca- 
shire volunteers  how  he  had  kept  Windyhough  for  the  King, 
and  they  told  each  other  that  it  was  hard  on  the  lad  to  have 
to  face  a  second  siege  so  soon. 

"  There's  one  who  should  ride  far,"  said  Towneley  to  the 
Governor  once,  after  Rupert  had  got  up  from  dining  with 
them  to  take  his  post. 


THE  FORLORN  HOPE  353 

"  Yes,"  said  Hamilton,  with  tired  mockery  of  the  faith  he 
held — "  as  far  as  the  stars,  Towneley — on  a  winged  horse — 
like  the  Prince,  God  bless  him !  like  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse — 
like  all  the  dreamers  who  think  this  world  well  lost  for  loy- 
alty." 

"Well,  we're  fools  of  the  same  breed,"  put  in  the  other 
dryly.  "  No  need  to  laugh  at  your  own  regiment." 

"Oh,  I  don't  laugh!  I'm  tired — just  tired,  Towneley.  I 
tell  you,  this  business  of  holding  Carlisle,  while  you  others 
were  facing  the  stark  brunt  of  it,  has  made  me  peevish.  I 
shall  be  an  old  woman  if  Cumberland's  artillery  does  not 
reach  him  soon." 

Towneley  filled  his  glass  afresh,  held  it  up  to  the  light, 
glanced  across  at  the  Governor  with  clear,  unhurried  comrade- 
ship. "  I  know,  Hamilton — I  know.  I've  felt  the  same — since 
Derby.  The  Prince  has  felt  it.  The  Highlanders  have  felt 
it." 

"  You  were  in  the  open,"  growled  Hamilton. 

"  In  retreat,  and  asking  battle  all  the  while — battle  that  did 
not  come.  And  we  were  saddle-sore  and  wet,  with  an  east 
wind  blowing  through  us.  You  were  snug  in  Carlisle  here, 
Hamilton.  I  tell  you  so." 

And  they  came  near  to  quarrel,  as  men  do  when  their  hearts 
grow  cramped  from  lack  of  action.  And  then  Towneley 
laughed,  remembering  his  whole,  round  faith  in  this  life  and 
the  next. 

"We're  grown  men,"  he  said,  "and  very  near  to  death. 
We'd  best  not  quarrel,  like  children  in  the  nursery." 

The  next  day  the  garrison  looked  out  on  a  gentle  fall  of 
sleet  that  half  hid  the  Duke's  investing  army.  It  was  the 
day  of  Christmas,  and  those  without  might  do  as  they 
liked;  but  the  Governor  and  Colonel  Towneley  were  aware 
that  catholic  souls  must  keep  the  feast  of  great  thanks- 
giving. 

They  made  their  rounds  with  no  less  zeal,  but  with  greater 
precision,  maybe,  knowing  that  the  sword-hilt  is  fashioned  like 


354  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

the  Cross.  And  about  seven  of  the  evening  they  sat  down — 
Rupert  with  them,  and  all  the  gentry  of  the  garrison  who 
could  be  spared — at  the  well-spread  supper-board. 

They  were  simple  at  heart,  these  revellers  who  had  known 
more  fast  than  feast  days  lately.  They  had  gone  to  Mass 
that  morning  with  thoughts  of  the  Madonna,  who  had 
changed  the  world's  face,  giving  men  a  leal  and  happy  rever- 
ence for  their  women-folk.  They  had  remembered  these 
women-folk  with  a  pang  of  tenderness  and  longing  knowing 
they  would  not  see  another  Christmas  dawn.  But  now  they 
sat  down  to  supper  with  appetites  entirely  of  this  world  and 
a  resolve  to  wear  gay  hearts  on  their  sleeves. 

It  was  an  hour  later  that  Hamilton,  the  Governor,  rose 
and  passed  his  wine  across  a  great  jug  of  water  that  stood  in 
front  of  him.  "  To  the  King,  gentlemen !  "  he  said. 

And,  from  the  acclamation,  it  would  have  seemed  they 
toasted  one  who  was  firmly  on  the  throne,  with  gifts  to  offer 
loyalty.  Instead,  their  King  was  an  exile  on  French  shores, 
and  the  only  gift  he  had  for  them  was  this  grace  they  had 
found  to  die  selflessly  and  with  serenity  for  the  Stuart  whom 
they  served. 

For  a  doomed  garrison,  they  had  supped  well;  and  when 
Towneley  got  to  his  feet  by  and  by  and  sang  a  Lancashire 
hunting-song,  all  in  the  broad,  racy  tongue  of  the  good  county, 
they  called  for  another,  and  yet  another.  Discipline — of  a 
drastic  sort — was  waiting  for  them.  Meanwhile,  they  were 
resolved  to  take  their  ease. 

And  suddenly  there  was  a  knocking  on  the  door,  and  then 
a  rattling  of  the  latch,  and  the  sound  of  stumbling  feet  out- 
side. And  then  the  door  opened,  and  into  the  middle  of  the 
uproar  and  the  laughter  came  a  figure  so  ludicrous,  so  di- 
shevelled, that  their  merriment  was  roused  afresh. 

The  man  was  dripping  from  head  to  foot — not  with  clean 
rain,  but  with  muddy  water  that  streaked  his  face,  his  hands, 
his  clothes.  And  he  stumbled  foolishly  as  he  moved  to  the 
table,  and,  without  a  by-your-leave,  poured  himself  a  measure 


THE  FORLORN  HOPE  355 

of  wine  and  gulped  it  down.  Then  he  tried  to  straighten 
himself,  and  looked  round  at  the  company. 

"  I  carry  dispatches,  and — and  I'm  nearly  done,"  he  said. 

There  was  no  laughter  now,  for  his  weakness  and  his  er- 
rand dwarfed  all  comedy.  It  was  Rupert,  remembering  long 
years  of  hero-worship,  who  first  saw  through  the  dishevelment 
and  mud  that  disguised  this  comer  to  the  feast.  He  crossed 
to  the  messenger's  side,  and  poured  out  another  measure  for 
him. 

"  You're  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse,"  he  said,  "  and — you 
steadied  me  in  the  old  days  at  Windyhough." 

Oliphant  had  the  gift  of  remembering  the  few  who  were 
conspicuously  leal,  instead  of  the  many  whose  weakness  did 
not  count  in  the  strong  game  of  life.  "  So  you've  found 
your  way,  as  I  promised  you  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  sudden  smile. 
"And  it  tastes  sweet,  Rupert?  Gad!  I  remember  my  first 
taste  of  the  Road." 

And  then  Oliphant,  feeling  his  strength  ebb,  crossed  to  the 
Governor  and  laid  his  dispatches  on  the  table.  He  explained, 
in  the  briefest  way,  that  he  had  ridden  across  country  from 
Northumberland,  changing  horses  by  the  way,  had  found  Car- 
lisle invested,  had  been  compelled,  lacking  the  password,  to 
run  a  sentry  through  and  afterwards  to  swim  the  moat. 

With  the  singular  clearness  that,  in  sickness  or  in  health, 
goes  with  men  who  carry  a  single  purpose,  he  gave  one  dis- 
patch into  the  Governor's  hand.  "  That  is  for  you,  sir.  This 
other  must  be  carried  forward  to  the  Prince — must  be  car- 
ried instantly.  Its  contents  may  alter  the  movements  of  the 
whole  army.  The  safety  of  his  Highness  is  concerned." 

He  paused  a  moment,  daunted  by  a  weakness  extreme  and 
pitiful.  "  I  had  hoped  to  carry  the  message  on  myself,  after 
an  hour's  sleep  or  two,"  he  went  on;  "but  I'm  as  you  see 
me — there  are  times  when  a  man  can  do  no  more." 

The  Governor  was  moved  by  Oliphant's  childlike,  unques- 
tioning devotion.  The  man  stood  there,  drenched  and  mud- 
died, after  a  ride  that  would  have  broken  most  folk's  wish  to 


356  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

carry  any  message  on.  He  had  passed  through  besieging 
troops,  and  cooled  his  ardour  in  a  moat  whose  waters  were 
nipped  by  a  north-east  wind.  And  yet  he  seemed  to  ask  for- 
bearance, because  he  was  not  strong  enough  to  ride  out  again 
at  dawn  on  the  Stuart's  business. 

"Be  easy,  Mr.  Oliphant,"  said  Hamilton.  "I  shall  find 
you  a  hard-riding  messenger." 

Oliphant's  mind  was  clear  as  ever  for  the  detail  that  every 
man  must  watch  whose  heart  is  set  on  high  adventure.  He 
looked  round  the  board,  and  the  face  that  claimed  his  glance 
was  Rupert's.  Sharp  and  clear,  old  scenes  at  Windyhough 
recurred  to  him — the  pretty,  pampered  mother,  the  weakling 
heir  who  longed  to  prove  himself,  the  memories  of  his  own 
unhappy  boyhood  that  Rupert  had  stirred  at  every  meeting. 

"  By  your  leave,  Mr.  Hamilton,"  he  said,  "I  shall  choose 
my  own  messenger." 

The  Governor  nodded  gravely.  "  It  is  your  due,  sir — much 
more  than  that  is  your  due,  if  I  could  give  it  you." 

"  Sir  Jasper  Royd  is  my  friend — and  he  will  be  glad  to 
know  that  his  son  is  trusted  with  dispatches." 

Rupert  took  fire  from  the  torch  that  this  harassed  messen- 
ger had  carried  into  Carlisle  Castle.  Not  long  ago  he  had 
been  a  stay-at-home,  fenced  round  with  women  and  old  men; 
and  now,  by  some  miracle,  he  was  chosen  to  ride  hard  through 
open  country. 

Across  his  eagerness,  across  the  free  and  windy  gladness 
that  had  come  to  him,  there  struck  a  chillier  air;  and  he 
stayed  for  a  thought  of  comrades  left  in  the  rearguard  of 
the  action.  It  was  the  old,  abiding  instinct  that  ran  with  the 
simple  Stuart  loyalty. 

"  Mr.  Oliphant,"  he  said  quietly,  "  we  are  waiting  here  for 
certain  death.  I  choose  to  stay." 

"  You  choose  to  stay  ?  "  echoed  Oliphant. 

"  Because  I  volunteered — because  you  must  take  these  dis- 
patches north  yourself.  I  tell  you,  sir,  you  must  get  free  of 
Carlisle.  It  is  death  to  stay." 


THE  FORLORN  HOPE  357 

Oliphant's  failing  strength  rallied  for  a  moment.  He  no 
longer  saw  the  strained,  eager  face  of  this  youngster  who 
had  given  him  hero-worship,  who  was  pleading  with  him  for 
his  own  safety.  Instead,  he  saw  a  mountain-burn,  high  up 
on  the  braes  of  Glenmoriston,  and  a  summer's  day  lang  syne 
gone  by,  and  one  who  walked  with  him.  They  had  talked 
together,  he  and  she,  and  she  had  been  kind  and  winsome, 
but  no  more;  and  with  that  dream,  high  as  the  stars,  yet 
vastly  human,  had  ended  his  foolish  quest  for  happiness. 

He  saw  her  now  with  the  young  eyes  that  had  sought 
answering  fire  from  hers  and  had  not  found  response.  He 
saw  the  whaups  wheeling  and  crying  over  their  heads,  heard 
the  tinkling  hurry  of  the  burn,  the  lilt  of  the  breeze  through 
the  heather. 

"  Death  ?  "  he  said  turning  at  last  to  Rupert.  "  My  lad, 
there  are  worse  friends." 

When  they  came  to  see  him,  after  he  had  fallen  into  a 
chair,  his  arms  thrown  forward  on  the  table,  they 'found  a 
gash  across  his  ribs,  of  which  he  had  not  spoken.  He  had 
earned  it  during  the  encounter  with  the  sentry,  before  he 
swam  the  moat. 

"Hard-bitten!"  muttered  the  Governor,  with  frank 
pleasure  in  the  man.  "Hard-bitten!  The  Prince  is  happy 
in  his  servants." 

After  they  had  carried  the  messenger  to  bed,  the  Governor 
drew  Rupert  apart.  "  See  here,  boy,"  he  said  sharply,  "  your 
sense  of  honour  is  devilish  nice,  but  it  needs  roughening  just 
now.  You  volunteered  for  death  ?  Well,  the  order  is  counter- 
manded—or, maybe,  death's  waiting  for  you  close  outside. 
Anyway,  you  go  out  to-night — at  once." 

"  I  would  rather  see  my  duty  that  way,  sir,  if  I  could." 

"  Oh,  to  the  deuce  with  your  scruples !  You're  young,  and 
think  it  a  fine,  happy  business  to  die  for  the  Prince.  It's 
a  braver  thing  to  live  for  him— through  the  stark  murk  of  it, 
lad.  Here  are  your  dispatches." 

The  Governor,  at  the  heart  of  him,  was  glad  to  feel  that 


358  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

this  promising  youngster,  who  had  shown  patience  and  gal- 
lantry in  siege,  should  have  his  chance  of  a  run  for  liberty. 
He  hurried  him  out  of  the  Castle  and  down  to  the  edge  of 
the  moat.  The  night  was  thick  with  sleet  and  wind,  friendly 
for  the  enterprise  because  it  stifled  sound. 

"  You   can  swim  ? "   said  the  Governor. 

"  Passably,  sir." 

"  Then  slip  in,  and  play  about  like  a  water-rat  until  you  find 
your  chance  to  land  between  the  sentries.  Make  your  way 
into  the  town  and  hire  a  horse  at  the  first  tavern.  They  do 
not  know  you  in  Carlisle." 

"  And  you,  Mr.  Hamilton  ? "  asked  Rupert,  with  the  old 
simplicity. 

"  I  ?  I  shall  take  care  of  my  own  troubles,  lad.  Mean- 
while, you've  enough  of  your  own  to  keep  you  busy." 

The  passage  of  the  moat  was  cold  enough  to  keep  Rupert 
intent  on  present  business.  The  need  afterwards  to  pick  his 
way  between  the  sentries,  who  were  cursing  northern 
weather,  left  him  no  time  for  thought  of  those  he  left  behind 
in  Carlisle.  And  then  he  had  to  keep  a  steady  head,  a  quiet, 
impassive  face,  as  he  bargained  with  the  host  of  the  Three 
Angels  Tavern  touching  the  hire  of  a  horse  to  carry  him  on 
an  errand  of  gallantry  to  Gretna  Green.  He  played  his  part 
well,  this  heir  of  Sir  Jasper's,  for  the  song  of  the  open  hazard 
was  lilting  at  his  ears. 

He  left  the  town  behind  him,  and  got  out  into  the  desolate, 
wild  country  that  lay  between  Carlisle  and  the  Border.  Be- 
cause he  had  no  thought  whether  his  horsemanship  were  good 
or  bad,  so  long  as  it  helped  him  along  the  track  of  a  single 
purpose,  he  rode  easily  and  well.  After  the  quiet  of  Windy- 
hough,  after  the  surprising  journey  to  Carlisle,  the  second 
siege  there,  with  nothing  happening,  there  was  a  keen,  un- 
heeding freedom  about  this  northward  ride.  He  knew  the 
Prince's  route,  had  only  to  spur  forward  on  the  Annan  road 
to  overtake  him,  soon  or  late.  He  was  wet  to  the  skin,  and 


THE  FORLORN  HOPE  359 

not  strong  of  body;  but  his  soul,  like  a  steady,  hidden  lamp, 
warmed  all  this  enterprise  for  him.  His  one  trouble  was  that 
his  borrowed  nag  was  carrying  a  clinking  shoe. 

As  he  crossed  the  bridge  at  Gretna  he  heard  two  horses 
splashing  through  the  sleety  track  in  front,  and  wondered 
idly  who  were  keeping  him  company  on  such  an  ill-found, 
lonely  road.  When  he  got  to  the  forge,  intent  on  having  his 
horse  re-shod,  he  saw  the  rough  figure  of  the  smith  standing 
swart  against  the  glow  from  the  open  smithy  door,  fronting 
a  man  good  to  look  at  and  a  woman  whose  face  was  shrouded 
by  a  blue-grey  hood. 

"  It's  lucky  I  was  late  with  my  work,  and  hammering  half 
into  the  night,"  the  smith  was  saying.  "  The  fees  are  double, 
sir,  after  it  strikes  midnight,"  he  added,  with  true  Scots  cau- 
tion. 

"  Treble,  if  it  pleases  you.  Marry  us,  blacksmith,  and 
don't  haggle.  We've  no  time  to  waste." 

When  they  turned,  man  and  wife,  to  get  to  saddle  again, 
they  saw  Rupert  waiting,  his  arm  slipped  through  his  horse's 
bridle. 

"  Good  luck  to  you  both ! "  he  said,  with  the  easiness  that 
sat  well  on  him  these  days.  "  My  need  is  to  have  a  loose 
shoe  set  right — and  I,  too,  have  no  time  to  waste." 

The  bride  lifted  her  blue-grey  hood  and  glanced  at  him, 
aware  of  some  romance  deeper  than  her  own  that  sounded 
in  the  voice  of  this  slim,  weather-beaten  stranger.  "  Dear, 
will  you  ask  a  favour  of  this  gentleman?"  she  said,  touching 
her  bridegroom's  arm.  "  He  wishes  us  luck,  and  he  has  a 
loose  horseshoe  to  give  us.  He  comes  in  a  good  hour,  I 
think." 

Rupert  stooped.  The  shoe  came  easily  away  into  his  hand, 
and  the  bride,  as  she  took  it  from  him,  looked  up  at  him  as  if 
she  had  known  him  long  and  found  him  trusty.  "  You  carry 
the  luck-giver's  air,"  she  said.  "  I  have  seen  it  once  or  twice, 
and — it  cannot  be  mistaken." 


360  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  Likely,"  said  Rupert,  with  a  touch  of  the  old  bitterness. 
"  I  have  found  little  of  my  own — till  lately." 

"  Well,  as  for  luck,"  put  in  the  blacksmith  dryly,  "  I  fancy 
you've  all  three  got  more  than  the  poor  fools  who  came  this 
way  five  days  ago.  Five  thousand  o'  them,  so  it  was  said — 
five  thousand  faces  that  looked  as  if  they  were  watching  their 
own  burial — and  the  pipes  just  sobbing  like  bairns  left  out  i' 
the  cold,  and  the  Pretender  with  his  bonnie  face  set  as  grim 
as  a  Lochaber  blade " 

"  The  Prince — have  you  later  news  of  him  ?  "  asked  Ru- 
pert indifferently,  as  if  he  talked  of  the  weather. 

"  Whisht,  now !  We  have  to  call  him  the  Pretender,  what- 
ever a  body  may  think  privately.  Yes,  I've  news  of  him — 
news  comes  north  and  south  to  Gretna,  for  it's  a  busy  road. 
They  tell  me  he's  in  Glasgow,  and  minded  to  bide  there  for 
a  good  while." 

The  bridegroom  laughed — the  low,  possessive  laugh  of 
pride  that  is  the  gift  of  newly-wedded  males.  "  Princes  come 
and  go,  but  a  good  wife  comes  only  once.  Good-night  to  you, 
for  we're  pursued." 

The  bride  gave  Rupert  a  long,  friendly  look  as  she  turned 
to  get  to  saddle.  "  I  thank  you  for  your  luck,  sir,"  she  said. 

It  was  so  they  parted,  not  to  meet  again;  but  Rupert,  as 
he  waited  restlessly  until  his  horse  was  shod,  was  aware  that 
this  lady  of  the  grey-blue  hood  had  loosened  his  grim  hold  of 
life  a  little,  because  some  note  in  her  voice,  some  turn  of  the 
pretty  head,  had  reminded  him  of  Nance  Demaine — Nance, 
half- forgotten,  pushed  into  the  background  of  this  ride  peril- 
ous that  was  to  give  him  manhood  at  long  last.  And  a  sud- 
den, foolish  longing  came  to  him  to  be  at  Windyhough  again, 
seeing  Nance  come  into  a  dull  room,  to  make  it,  by  some 
magic  of  her  own,  a  place  full  of  charm  and  melody. 

"  They  say  the  Duke  of  Cumberland  is  staying  to  take 
Carlisle,  sir,"  said  the  blacksmith,  putting  the  finishing  touches 
to  his  work. 

"  Yes.     So  they  told  me  when  I  rode  through  to-day." 


THE  FORLORN  HOPE  361 

"  Well,  it  gives  these  other  chiels  a  chance,  and  I'm  no 
saying  I'm  sorry." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Rupert  as  he  got  to  saddle,  and  pressed  a 
crown-piece  into  the  blacksmith's  hand. 

As  he  rode  forward  through  the  sleet,  and  was  half-way  to 
Annan  in  the  Border  country,  a  horseman,  better  mounted 
than  himself,  overtook  him  and  drew  rein  sharply.  There 
was  a  ragged  sort  of  moonlight  stealing  through  the  dark- 
ness of  the  night,  and  he  saw  the  face  of  a  man,  elderly  and 
hard  and  in  evil  temper,  peering  at  him  through  the  gloom. 

"  I'm  seeking  my  daughter,  sir,"  said  the  stranger,  without 
preamble  of  any  kind.  "  She  was  married  at  Gretna  just  now 
— I  was  too  late  to  stop  that — but  I  trust  to  make  her  a 
widow  before  the  night  is  out.  Have  they  passed  you  on  the 
road?" 

"  Was  she  wearing  a  grey-blue  hood,  sir?" 

"How  should  I  know?     Have  they  passed  you,  I  say?" 

"  No,  but  I  watched  them  married  at  Gretna  not  long  ago, 
and  they  rode  out  ahead  of  me." 

"On  which  road?" 

"They  spoke" — even  a  white  lie  came  unreadily  to  Ru- 
pert's tongue — "  they  spoke  of  turning  righthanded  towards 
Newcastle,  I  think." 

So  then  the  stranger  turned  his  horse  sharply  round,  swore 
roundly  at  his  informant,  and  was  gone  without  a  good-night 
or  a  word  of  thanks.  And  Rupert  laughed  as  he  trotted  for- 
ward. He  had  faced  many  things  during  his  odd,  disastrous 
five-and-twenty  years — loneliness  hard  to  bear,  good-hu- 
moured liking  that  was  half-contempt  from  the  men  who 
counted  him  a  scholar,  distrust  and  loathing  of  himself.  But 
now  he  felt  strength  come  into  his  right  hand,  as  a  sword- 
hilt  does.  His  feet  were  set  on  the  free,  windy  road.  He 
had  gone  a  little  way  to  prove  himself,  and  the  zest  of  it  was 
like  rare  wine,  that  warms  the  fancy  but  leaves  both  head 
and  heart  in  a  nice  poise  of  sanity. 

He  thought  of  the  lady  in  the  grey-blue  hood,  and  laughed 


362  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

again.  He  knew  now  why  he  had  lied  to  the  pursuer.  They 
were  night-riders,  like  himself,  she  and  her  groom ;  they  had 
chosen  the  honest  open,  with  peril  riding  hard  behind  them. 
And,  till  he  died,  his  sympathy  would  ever  go  out  now,  to 
those  who  took  the  dangerous  tracks. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   GLORY   OF   IT 

THE  Prince  stayed  in  Glasgow  with  his  army  until  the  New 
Year  was  two  days  in.  And  this  was  fortunate  for  Rupert, 
because  it  enabled  him  to  bring  in  his  dispatches — after  many 
a  change  of  horses  by  the  way — in  time  to  share  the  pleasant 
victory  of  Falkirk  later  on. 

And  Falkirk  Battle,  like  Prestonpans  at  the  beginning  of 
this  wild  campaign,  showed  the  Prince  quick  in  strategy  be- 
forehand, hot  when  the  fight  was  dinning  round  his  ears. 
By  sheer  speed  of  generalship  he  got  his  army  to  the  rising 
ground  which  gave  him  the  advantage,  outwitting  General 
Hawley,  who  led  the  Hanoverian  army.  And  then  news  was 
brought — by  Rupert,  as  it  chanced — that  Hawley  could  not 
get  his  cannon  up  within  firing  distance,  because  the  bogland 
was  so  sodden  that  the  wheels  were  axle-deep  in  mire.  And 
so  then  the  Prince,  against  Lord  Murray's  text-book  warnings 
and  advice,  ordered  a  sharp  attack.  They  had  the  advantage 
of  the  hill ;  but  the  Prince,  knowing  the  temper  of  his  High- 
landers, chose  to  abandon  that  for  the  gain  of  instant  action. 
He  was  justified.  His  men  were  like  dogs  kept  too  long  upon 
the  chain,  savage  for  assault;  and,  when  he  led  them  down 
the  hill,  straight  on  to  the  astonished  enemy — busy  still  with 
the  foundered  gun-carriages — the  roar  and  speed  of  the  at- 
tack swept  all  before  it. 

The  fight  was  quick  and  bloody,  till  gloaming  ended  it. 
The  odds  were  three  to  two  against  the  Prince ;  yet  when  the 
day's  business  was  accomplished,  there  were  six  hundred 
killed  of  Hawley's  army,  and  many  wounded  asking  for  the 
succour  which  the  Stuart  gave  by  habit,  and  much  artillery 
and  ammunition  captured. 

363 


564  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

It  was  in  these  days  that  Rupert  found  recompense  for  the 
way  for  once,  had  faced  the  opposing  odds  with  the  practi- 
cal, quiet  courage,  the  eager  hope,  that  are  seldom  blended  to 
a  nicety  in  a  man's  soul. 

And  while  they  rested  after  the  battle,  news  came  in  that 
General  Hawley's  army  had  been  increased  by  three  thou- 
sand troops  sent  by  forced  marches  from  Northumberland. 
Lord  Murray's  arithmetic  again  took  panic;  the  Prince's 
zeal  caught  fire;  and  once  more,  in  this  bloodless  battle  of 
the  council-chamber,  it  was  the  Scots  prudence  that  won  the 
day. 

The  Prince's  army  moved  north,  in  retreat  when  advance 
was  their  master-card  to  play.  And  again  the  Highland 
pipers  played  sorrow  round  the  hills,  as  if  a  mist  came  down. 
And  Rupert  found  his  strength  come  supple  to  him,  like  a 
well-tried  sword,  because  in  the  years  behind  he,  too,  had 
known  retreat. 

They  went  north,  and  farther  north,  up  into  the  beauti- 
ful, wild  glens  that  now  were  harsh  with  winter,  though 
the  hill-bred  men  liked  the  naked  pastures,  the  naked,  comely 
trees,  a  little  better  than  when  the  warmth  of  summer  clothed 
them. 

It  was  not  a  battle,  but  a  rout.  The  Prince  had  had  his 
years  behind.  Whenever  a  hazardous  journey  was  planned, 
needing  one  resolute  man  to  follow  it  alone,  the  choice  fell 
on  him.  He  had  joined  the  honourable  company  of  Night- 
Riders — those  messengers  who  were  seldom  in  the  forefront 
of  public  applause,  but  whose  service  to  the  Cause  was  beyond 
all  praise  or  recompense.  There  were  some  twenty  of  them, 
scattered  up  and  down  the  two  countries.  Oliphant  of  Muir- 
house,  Rupert — each  one  of  them  was  of  the  same  build  and 
habit — lean,  untiring  men  who  had  earned  their  optimism  by 
the  discipline  the  slow-working  mills  of  God  had  taught  them 
— men  who  feared  sloth,  self-pity,  prudence;  men  with  their 
eyes  ever  on  the  hills,  where  strength  and  the  royal  courage 
thrive. 


THE  GLORY  OF  IT  365 

Rupert  had  waited  for  his  manhood;  and  now  it  grew  to 
flower  with  amazing  speed  and  certainty.  The  muddled  years 
behind,  the  scholarly  aloofness  from  life's  warfare  and  its 
seeming  disillusions,  grew  faint  and  shadowy.  He  went 
about  the  Prince's  business,  a  man  carrying  men's  lives,  and 
the  joy  of  it  was  as  if  the  pipes  called  him  up  and  down  the 
broken  country  to  swift  and  pleasant  battle. 

He  learned  much  these  days,  as  men  do  who  ride  with  the 
lone  hand  on  the  bridle-rein — learned  to  keep  his  body  hard, 
and  his  soul  clean,  because  he  was  adventuring,  not  his  own 
safety,  but  that  of  comrades  who  trusted  him.  Trust?  As 
he  rode  through  the  lonely  glens,  seeing  past  days  and  fu- 
ture spread  out  before  him  like  a  clear-drawn  map,  he  grew 
more  and  more  aware  that  there  is  no  stronger  stirrup-cup  for 
a  rider-out  to  drink  than  the  waters  of  deep  trust.  A  man's 
faith  in  himself  grows  weak,  or  arrogant,  or  hardened;  but 
the  high  trust  given  him  by  others,  who  look  to  him  and  can- 
not see  him  fail,  is  like  a  fixed  star  shining  far  ahead. 

It  was  no  easy  life,  as  ease  is  counted.  The  year  was  get- 
ting on  to  spring,  as  they  reckon  seasons  London  way;  but 
here  among  the  mountains  winter  was  tarrying,  a  guest  who 
knew  his  welcome  long  outstayed,  and  whose  spite  was 
kindled.  Night  by  night,  as  Rupert  went  by  the  lonely 
tracks,  the  wind  blew  keen  and  bitter  from  the  east;  and 
snow  fell  often;  and  rheumatism,  sharp  and  unromantic,  was 
racking  his  wet  body.  Yet  still  his  knees  were  firm  about 
the  saddle,  his  handling  of  the  reins  secure ;  for  he  was  learn- 
ing horsemanship  these  days. 

And  sometimes,  at  unlikeliest  moments,  there  came  a  brief, 
bewildering  summer  to  his  soul.  He  knew  that  Nance  was 
thinking  of  him— was  trusting  him,  as  all  these  others  did. 
He  would  see  the  moors  and  the  denes  that  had  bred  him — 
would  hear  the  pleasant  folk-speech  of  Lancashire,  as  he 
passed  greeting  with  farmers  on  the  road — would  remember 
the  way  of  his  heart,  as  it  leaped  out  to  Nance  in  the  old, 
unproven  days.  These  were  his  intervals  of  rest;  for  God 


S66  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

lets  no  man's  zeal  consume  him  altogether,  until  his  time  is 
ripe  to  go.  And  then  he  would  put  dreams  from  him,  as  if 
they  were  a  crime,  and  would  touch  his  pocket  to  learn  if  the 
dispatches  were  secure,  and  would  ride  forward,  carrying  his 
life  through  the  winding  passes,  through  the  Scottish  caution 
of  lairds  who  were  doubtful  whether  it  were  worth  while  to 
join  a  Prince  in  hot  retreat. 

It  was  so  he  came  to  Culloden  Moor — wet,  rheumatic,  and 
untiring — on  the  Fifteenth  of  April,  and  had  audience  of  the 
Prince.  He  had  come  from  the  north  side  of  the  River  Spey, 
and  was  ignorant  that  the  enemy,  under  the  Duke  of  Cumber- 
land's command,  was  encamped  not  far  away,  ready  to  give 
battle  on  the  morrow. 

The  Prince  acknowledged  Rupert's  coming  with  a  quick, 
friendly  smile.  "Ah,  you,  sir!  You're  the  pick  of  my  gen- 
tlemen since  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse  died." 

And  Rupert,  forgetting  that  he  had  ridden  far,  carrying 
urgent  news,  was  aghast  that  one  who  had  fed  his  boyish 
dreams — one  who  had  brightened  the  hard  face  of  endeavour 
for  him — should  have  gone  out  of  reach  of  human  touch  and 
speech.  "  He's  dead,  your  Highness  ?  I — I  loved  him,"  he 
said  brokenly. 

"  Then  be  glad,"  said  the  Prince,  as  if  he  talked  gently  to 
a  younger  brother.  "  He  died  in  Carlisle  Castle,  after  a  cruel 
ride  .on  my  behalf.  But  he  was  not  taken,  sir,  as  all  the  others 
were.  There  was  Colonel  Towneley  there — a  comrade  I  had 
proved — and  they  tell  me  he's  on  his  way  south  to  Tower  Hill. 
I  would  rather  die  as  Oliphant — God  rest  him ! — died." 

Rupert,  blind  and  heart-sick,  fumbled  for  his  dispatches — 
dispatches  that,  twice  to-day,  had  all  but  cost  him  his  life — 
and  handed  them  to  the  Prince,  who  turned  them  over  care- 
lessly and  put  them  down. 

"  By  your  leave,"  said  the  Prince,  with  a  quiet  laugh,  "  these 
can  wait  a  little.  There's  battle  on  the  moor  to-morrow." 

Then  Rupert  learned  what  was  in  the  doing;  and  his  first 
grief  for  Oliphant  grew  dulled,  because  the  chance  of  open 


THE  GLORY  OF  IT  367 

fight  had  come,  after  incessant  riding  through  the  nights  that 
had  brought  him  little  company. 

"There,  you'll  need  rest!"  said  the  Prince,  with  a  kindly 
touch  on  his  arm. 

And  again  Rupert  smiled,  with  disarming  frankness.  "  I've 
had  five-and-twenty  years  of  rest,  your  Highness.  It  is  bet- 
ter to  be  up  Culloden  braes  to-morrow." 

"  Gad,  sir !  you're  Oliphant — just  Oliphant,  come  :o  life 
again,  with  all  his  obstinate,  queer  zeal.  Make  your  peace, 
lad,  and  sleep  a  while — we  come  into  our  kingdom  either  way 
to-morrow." 

Through  that  night,  in  between  the  slumber  that  was  forced 
on  him  by  sheer  weight  of  tiredness,  Rupert  held  fast  the  last 
words  of  the  Prince.  It  was  their  strength — the  Stuart's 
strength  and  his,  that,  either  way,  they  came  into  their  king- 
dom. The  Georgian  troops,  sleeping  or  waking  till  the  dawn's 
"bugle  notes  rang  out,  had  only  one  way  of  victory ;  they  must 
conquer,  or  lose  all,  in  this  world's  battle ;  it  was  a  sealed  rid- 
dle to  them  that  a  man  may  find  true  gain  in  loss. 

The  dawn  came  red  and  lonely  over  Culloden  Moor,  and  the 
austere  hills,  as  they  cleared  their  eyes  of  mist-grey  sleep, 
looked  down  on  a  fury  in  the  making,  on  preparations  for  a 
battle  whose  tragedy  is  sobbing  to  this  day. 

Rupert,  his  heart  on  fire  as  he  went  through  that  day's 
eagerness — the  Prince,  who  found  recompense  in  action  for 
the  indignities  of  Derby — the  Highlanders,  who  were  fighting 
with  the  zest  of  children  dancing  round  a  village  Maypole — 
could  never  afterwards  reconstruct  the  sharp  and  shifting  is- 
sues of  the  battle,  could  not  guess  how  it  came  that  all  their 
gallantry,  their  simple  hope,  were  broken  by  the  stolid  foreign 
soldiery. 

Even  at  the  bridge,  where  they  came  on  with  shield  and 
dirk  and  claymore  against  the  Duke's  three  lines  of  musketry 
— the  first  line  kneeling,  the  second  stooping,  the  third  stand- 
ing to  full  height — when  they  lay  in  tangled,  writhing  heaps, 
shot  down  at  twenty  paces,  those  of  the  Highlanders  whose 


368  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

eyes  were  clear  above  disasters  of  the  body  were  surprised 
that  love  of  their  Prince  had  not  disarmed  the  musketry;  and 
they  tried  to  get  up  again,  and  died  in  the  simple  faith  that  had 
taught  them  how  to  fight  and  how  to  die. 

The  Prince  galloped  up  to  the  company  of  MacDonalds, 
who  had  stood  sullenly  aloof  because,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
fight,  they  had  not  been  given  the  first  post  of  danger. 

"  MacDonalds ! "  he  said.  "  Who  conies  with  me  to  the 
bridge?" 

They  forgot  their  sulkiness,  forgot  allegiance  to  their  chief- 
tain. There  was  the  Stuart  here,  his  face  crimsoned  by  a 
glancing  musket-shot,  his  voice  alive  and  dominant.  From 
frank  disaster,  from  toothache  and  the  miry  roads,  from  this 
day's  battle,  which  had  found  him  skilled  in  fight,  he  had 
learned  his  kingship. 

The  MacDonald  turned  sharply  round,  putting  himself  be- 
tween his  clansmen  and  the  Prince.  "  We  stay,"  he  said,  with 
peremptory  and  harsh  command.  "  They  would  not  give  us 
the  right  wing  of  the  battle — we'll  take  no  other." 

The  Prince  saw  them  halt  in  the  midst  of  their  eager  rush 
to  serve  him — saw  them  look  at  each  other,  waver,  and  stand 
still.  A  call  stronger  than  his  own  had  come  to  them — the 
call  that  is  in  each  man's  blood,  blowing  willy-nilly  like  the 
wind  and  bidding  him  obey  the  teaching  of  dead  forefathers. 
Their  hearts  were  toward  the  Prince — they  hungered  for  this 
onset  at  the  bridge — but  they  held  back,  just  as  at  Derby,  be- 
cause old  allegiance  was  demanded  by  their  chieftain. 

"  Macdonalds ! "  cried  the  Prince  again,  with  desperate 
eagerness.  "Who's  for  the  bridge?" 

And  then,  before  he  guessed  their  purpose,  some  of  his  gen- 
tlemen rode  close  about  him,  clutched  his  reins,  compelled 
him  to  desert  the  field. 

"  All's  lost,  your  Highness— except  your  safety,"  said  one. 

He  struggled  to  get  free  of  them.  "  My  pleasure,"  he  said 
hotly,  "  is  to  die  as  poorer  friends  are  doing." 

They  would  not  listen.     Their  love  of  him — whether  it  took 


THE  GLORY  OF  IT  369 

a  misguided  form  or  no— compelled  them  to  use  force,  to  dis- 
regard commands,  entreaties.  His  vision,  maybe,  was  clearer 
than  their  own.  They  were  concerned  with  his  immediate 
welfare,  could  not  look  into  the  years  ahead  that  were  to  be  a 
lingering,  heart-broken  death,  instead  of  the  pleasant  end  he 
craved. 

They  got  him  to  a  place  of  safety,  and  he  glanced  at  them 
with  a  reproof  so  sad  and  desolate  that  for  the  first  time  they 
doubted  their  own  wisdom. 

"  Gentlemen,  it  was  not  well  done,"  he  said,  "  but  one  day, 
if  God  wills,  I  shall  forgive  you." 

Below  them,  the  Duke  of  Cumberland  had  his  way  with  the 
broken  Highlanders.  Across  the  moor,  and  back  again,  his 
troopers  swept,  till  the  field  was  like  a  shambles.  The  High- 
landers disdained  to  ask  for  quarter ;  the  others  were  too  drunk 
with  lust  of  slaughter  to  think  of  it;  and  the  roll-call  of  the 
dead  that  day  among  the  clans  was  a  tribute  to  the  Stuart  and 
their  honour.  There  were  near  a  quarter  wounded ;  but  these 
were  outnumbered  by  the  dead. 

And  yet  the  Duke  had  not  supped  well  enough.  In  his 
face,  as  he  rode  up  and  down  the  field,  was  a  light  not  good 
for  any  man  to  see — the  light  that  had  touched  it  dimly  when 
he  laid  siege  to  Carlisle  and  talked  of  whetting  his  appetite 
by  slaughter  of  its  garrison. 

He  was  unsatisfied,  though  the  wind  came  down  from  the 
moor  and  sobbed  across  the  desolation  he  had  made.  He 
checked  his  horse,  pointed  to  the  wounded. 

"  Dispatch  these  rebels,  gentlemen,"  he  said  to  the  officers 
about  him. 

And  then,  as  at  Carlisle,  the  English  among  his  following 
withdrew  from  the  uncleanness  of  the  man.  "  We  are  officers, 
your  Highness,"  said  one. 

"  Aye,  and  gentlemen.  I  know  your  ladylike  speech.  For 
my  part,  I'm  a  soldier " 

"  A  butcher,  by  your  leave,"  snapped  the  other. 

The  Duke  turned  savagely  on  him;  but  the  English  closed 


370  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

round  their  comrade,  and  their  meaning  was  plain  enough  to 
be  read. 

"  Must  I  do  the  work  myself?"  he  snarled. 

"  It  would  seem  so,  if  it  must  be  done." 

And  afterwards  the  gloaming,  sad  and  restless,  crept  down 
from  the  grey  hills,  shrouding  the  dead  and  wounded.  It 
found  Cumberland  master  of  the  field;  but  he  was  surfeited, 
and  the  true  luck  of  the  battle  was  with  those  who  had  died 
in  faith,  or  with  those  others  of  the  Prince's  army  who  were 
seeking  cover  among  the  northern  hills.  For  it  is  not  gain 
or  loss  that  matters,  but  the  cleanly  heart  men  bring  to  accept- 
ance of  the  day's  fortune. 

Among  the  fugitives  were  some  of  the  men  of  Lancashire 
who  had  ridden  out  to  join  the  Prince  at  Langton ;  and  these 
foregathered,  by  some  clan  instinct  of  their  own,  in  a  little 
wood  five  miles  away  from  the  trouble  of  Culloden  Moor. 
Sir  Jasper  was  there,  and  Rupert,  and  Maurice,  all  carrying 
wounds  of  one  sort  or  another.  Demaine's  bailiff  was  there, 
untouched  and  full  of  grumbles  as  of  old.  But  Squire  De- 
maine  himself  was  missing,  and  young  Hunter  of  Hunters- 
cliff  ;  and  Maurice  told  how  he  had  seen  them  die,  close  beside 
him,  at  the  ditch  that  lay  fifty  paces  from  Culloden  Bridge. 

"  God  rest  them ! "  said  Sir  Jasper,  not  halting  for  the  sor- 
row that  would  come  by  and  by.  "  They've  done  with  trou- 
ble, friends,  but  we  have  not." 

Half  that  night  they  rested  in  the  sodden  wood,  with  a  chill 
wind  for  blanket ;  but  they  were  afoot  again  long  before  dawn, 
and  overtook  the  Prince's  company  at  Ruthven.  A  council 
was  held  just  after  their  arrival,  and  the  Prince — who,  before 
ever  Culloden  battle  found  him  in  the  thick  of  it,  had  not  slept 
for  eight-and-forty  hours — was  still  solicitous  touching  the 
welfare  of  his  friends.  He  bade  the  native-born  make  for 
their  own  homes,  the  English  choose  the  likeliest  road  to  safety 
that  offered ;  for  himself,  he  would  keep  a  few  friends  about 
him,  and  would  take  his  chance  among  the  hills.  And  when 


THE  GLORY  OF  IT  371 

his  gentlemen  demurred,  wishing  to  remain,  he  faced  them 
with  the  pleasant  humour  that  no  adversary  could  kill. 

"  I  was  not  permitted  to  command  when  we  were  in  ad- 
vance," he  said ;  "  but,  gentlemen,  we're  in  retreat — and  surely 
I  may  claim  the  privilege  ?  " 

When  they  had  gone  their  separate  ways  in  little  companies 
— reluctantly,  and  looked  backward  at  the  Stuart,  who  was 
meat,  and  wine,  and  song  to  them — the  Prince  himself  was 
left  with  ten  gentlemen  about  him.  Nine  of  them  were  Scots- 
men, but  the  tenth  was  Rupert,  who  had  a  surprising  gift  these 
days  for  claiming  the  post  of  direst  hazard. 

And  through  that  sick  retreat  the  scattered  companies  were 
aware  of  the  qualities  that  disaster  brings  out  more  clearly 
than  any  victory  can  do.  Oliphant  of  Muirhouse,  dead  for 
the  Cause  and  happy  in  the  end  he  craved,  had  asked  Sir  Jas- 
per long  ago  at  Windyhough  if  Will  Underwood,  brave  in  the 
open  hunt,  were  strong  enough  to  stand  a  siege;  and  these 
fugitives,  going  east  and  west  and  north — hopeless  and  spurred 
forward  only  by  the  pursuit  behind,  the  homesickness  ahead 
— were  aware,  each  one  of  the  them,  what  Oliphant  had  meant. 

The  Highlanders,  trudging  over  hill-tracks  to  their  shiel- 
ings, were  buried  in  a  mist  of  sorrow,  that  only  battle  could 
disperse.  Lord  Murray,  riding  for  his  own  country,  was  re- 
flective, soured,  and  peevish,  because  his  cold  arithmetic  of 
war  was  disproven  by  results.  Yet,  through  the  disillusion 
and  weariness  of  this  wild  scamper  for  the  hills,  the  strong 
souls  of  the  Rising  proved  their  mettle.  The  Prince,  Lochiel, 
the  good  and  debonair,  Sir  Jasper  and  his  hunting  men  of 
Lancashire — those  who  had  lost  most,  because  their  hope  had 
been  most  keen,  were  the  strong  men  in  retreat. 

And  Rupert,  sharing  the  Prince's  dangers  and  his  confi- 
dence more  closely  every  day,  rode  up  and  down  among  the 
hills  like  a  man  possessed  by  some  good  angel  that  would  not 
let  him  fear,  or  rest,  or  feel  the  aches  that  wet  roads  by  day, 
wet  beds  by  night  entailed  on  him.  Whenever  a  messenger 


372  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

was  needed  to  go  into  dangerous  country  and  fear  nothing, 
he  claimed  first  privilege ;  and  it  was  granted  him,  for  he  had 
learned  a  strange  persuasiveness. 

He  was  at  Benbicula  with  the  Prince,  where  they  and  the 
crew  of  a  small  boat  that  had  landed  them  met  a  storm  of 
rain  that  was  to  last  for  fourteen  hours ;  where  they  found  an 
empty  cottage,  with  a  store  of  firelogs;  where  the  Prince 
bought  a  cow  for  thirty  shillings,  and  proved  himself  the  best 
cook  of  them  all.  They  had  food  that  night,  and  a  bottle  of 
brandy  among  the  six  who  still  kept  company  together;  and 
these  unwonted  luxuries  brought  the  best  gift  of  all — sleep, 
that  is  dear  to  buy  when  men  have  kept  weariness  at  bay  too 
long. 

Rupert  was  at  Corradale,  too,  where  for  three  weeks  they 
found  safety  among  the  islanders  of  Uist.  The  royal  bag- 
gage was  no  heavier  than  a  couple  of  shirts,  and  the  Prince 
was  housed  in  a  byre  so  weather-rotted  that  he  had  to  sleep  o' 
nights  under  a  tent  made  of  branches  and  cow-hides,  to  keep 
the  rain  from  him.  Yet  his  cheerfulness  was  unfeigned,  for 
he  was  tired  of  prudence  and  spent  his  whole  days  hunting 
deer  on  the  hills  or  fishing  in  the  bay.  The  Uist  folk  knew 
him,  and  the  price  upon  his  head;  the  neighboring  isles  were 
thick  with  soldiery  in  pursuit,  and  gunboats  were  busy  among 
the  inland  seas ;  and  yet  he  moved  abroad  as  if  he  were  some 
big-hearted  country  gentleman,  intent  only  on  following  his 
favourite  sports  in  time  of  peace. 

"  You  wear  a  charmed  life,  your  Highness,"  said  Rupert, 
as  they  came  down  one  day  from  shooting  deer.  It  was  near 
the  end  of  their  three  weeks'  sojourn  on  the  island,  and  the 
danger  set  so  close  about  the  Prince  had  harassed  him,  as  no 
perils  of  his  own  could  do. 

"  I  believe  you,  sir,"  said  the  other,  turning  suddenly.  "  I 
bear  a  charmed  life.  So  does  any  man  for  whom  God  finds  a 
need.  We  die,  I  think,  when  our  work  is  done,  but  not  an 
hour  before."  And  with  that  he  laughed,  and  got  out  his 
clay  pipe.  "  We  shall  sup  on  venison  to-night,  my  friend, 


THE  GLORY  OF  IT  373 

and  I  am  hungry.  You  should  not  tempt  me  with  matters  of 
theology." 

And  so  it  was  afterwards,  when  they  left  Uist  to  go  through 
constant  perils,  by  land  and  sea.  The  Prince  brought  to  it 
all — discomfort,  pursuit  outwitted  by  a  hair's  breadth  time 
after  time — the  same  unyielding  outlook.  Fools  and  cowards 
might  fold  their  hands,  reconstructing  yesterday  and  bewail- 
ing all  the  misadventures  that  might  have  been  avoided  had 
they  done  this,  done  that ;  but  the  Stuart  took  life  up  from  each 
day's  beginning,  and  went  forward,  praying  in  entire  sim- 
plicity that  his  shoulders  might  be  broadened  to  the  coming 
burden. 

When  at  last,  near  the  end  of  June,  they  came  near  the  Skye 
country,  a  new,  surprising  page  was  turned  of  the  story  of 
these  hunted  folk.  Until  now  they  had  been  among  men, 
fighting  the  enemy  at  Culloden,  eluding  him  during  the  in- 
cessant, long  retreat.  But  now  a  woman  stepped  into  their 
lives  again ;  and,  because  faith  and  old  habit  had  trained  them 
that  way,  they  were  glad  that  a  thread  of  gold  had  come  to 
bind  the  rough  wounds  of  life  together. 

Not  till  he  died  would  Rupert  forget  those  days  in  the  West- 
ern Isles.  Their  grace  passed  into  abiding  folksong  before 
the  year  was  out ;  and  he  was  privileged  to  watch,  step  by  step, 
the  growth  of  a  high  regard  such  as  the  world  seldom  sees. 

He  saw  Flora  MacDonald's  first  coming  to  the  Prince — at 
Rossinish,  in  Uist — saw  the  long,  startled  glance  they  ex- 
changed, as  if  each  had  been  looking  for  the  other  since  time's 
beginning.  And  then  he  saw  her  curtsey  low,  saw  him  lift 
her*  with  tender  haste. 

"  I  should  kneel  to  you  instead,  Miss  MacDonald,"  he  said. 
"  You've  volunteered  to  be  my  guide  through  dangerous  seas, 
they  tell  me,  and  I  fear  for  your  safety,  and  yet — I  ever  liked 
brave  women." 

Rupert  had  changed  his  trade  of  messenger  for  that  of  boat- 
man, and  was  one  of  the  six  rowers  who  rested  on  their  oars 
in  the  roomy  fishing-coble  that  was  waiting  to  carry  the  Prince 


374  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

to  Skye.  There  was  a  wild  gale  blowing,  but  the  June  night 
was  clear  with  a  sort  of  tempered  daylight,  and  Rupert 
watched  these  two,  standing  on  the  strip  of  sandy  shore,  with 
a  queer  sense  of  intuition.  The  discipline  of  night-riding,  its 
loneliness  and  urgency,  teaches  a  man  to  look  on  at  any  hap- 
pening with  eyes  keen  for  the  true,  sharp  detail  of  it ;  and  the 
two  figures,  as  he  saw  them  now,  seemed  transfigured,  secure 
for  the  moment  in  some  dream  of  a  past  life  they  had  shared 
together. 

There  was  the  Prince,  his  head  lifted  buoyantly,  his  lips 
smiling  as  if  Culloden  had  never  been.  There  was  Miss  Mac- 
Donald — four-and-twenty,  keen  for  loyalty  and  sacrifice — with 
something  more  than  loyalty  making  a  happy  light  about  her 
face.  She  had  none  of  the  fripperies  that  set  men's  wits 
astray  and  poison  their  clean  hold  on  life ;  but,  from  her  buck- 
led shoes  to  her  brown,  shapely  head,  she  was  trim,  and  debo- 
nair, and  bonnie,  made  to  keep  pace  with  men  along  the  road 
of  high  endeavour. 

Rupert,  resting  on  his  oar,  felt  a  touch  of  loneliness  and 
heartache.  This  lass  of  MacDonald's  recalled  the  Lancashire 
hills  to  him  because  she  was  so  like  Nance  Demaine,  for  whose 
sake  he  was  proving  himself  along  the  troubled  ways.  And 
then  he  had  no  time  for  heartache ;  for  the  Prince  was  hand- 
ing Miss  MacDonald  into  the  boat,  and  the  rowers  were  bid- 
den to  make  for  the  first  unguarded  landing-place  in  Skye 
which  they  could  find. 

They  had  an  evil  passage.  The  wind  never  ceased  to  wail 
and  scream  across  the  foamy  breakers,  but  the  storm  was  not 
dark  enough  to  hide  them,  and  in  the  half-light  their  boat 
showed  clear  against  the  grey-blue  of  the  heaving  seas. 
Gunboats  were  out,  searching  for  the  fugitive,  who  was  known 
to  be  somewhere  in  among  the  isles;  and  once  a  hail  of  shot 
passed  over  them  from  a  man-of-war  that  set  sail  in  pursuit, 
but  could  not  take  them  because  the  wind  was  contrary. 

For  eight  hours  the  rowers  strove  with  the  long  passage 
overseas  from  Uist,  their  arms  unwearying  at  the  oars.  And 


THE  GLORY  OF  IT  375 

the  Prince  would  take  more  than  his  share  of  the  toil,  telling 
them  that  he  was  the  cause  of  this  night  voyage  and  should 
lend  a  willing  hand  on  that  account.  They  came  to  Skye  at 
long  last,  and  tried  to  put  in  at  Waternish  on  the  west  coast, 
but  found  a  company  of  soldiery  encamped  about  a  roaring 
fire,  and  had  to  put  back  again  into  the  teeth  of  the  wind. 
And,  as  if  wind  and  seas  were  not  enough,  the  men  on  shore 
pursued  them  with  a  rousing  volley.  One  bullet  struck  the 
boat's  side,  and  a  score  others  hit  the  water  close  about  them, 
and  rebounded,  and  went  out  across  the  waves  with  a 
sharp,  mournful  wail,  shrill  as  the  pipes  when  they  are  sor- 
rowful. 

No  one  on  board  was  hit ;  but  the  Prince,  seeing  Miss  Mac- 
Donald  shrink,  put  out  a  hand  and  touched  her,  as  a  devout 
lover  might.  And  the  two  took  hurried  counsel.  It  seemed 
best  to  cross  Snizort  Loch,  and  so  reach  Monkstadt,  where  a 
kinsman  of  her  own  would  give  them  shelter — unless  there, 
too,  the  soldiery  were  quartered. 

The  Prince  wished  once  again  to  take  an  oar,  though  his 
hands  were  raw  and  bleeding;  but  no  man  would  give  up  the 
rowing  that,  for  sake  of  him  they  carried,  was  pleasant  to 
them;  and  so,  lest  he  should  be  idle  altogether,  he  sang  old, 
loyal  songs  to  them,  and  jested,  and  made  their  burden  lighter 
— a  gift  of  his.  And  then  Miss  MacDonald,  whose  pluck  was 
not  to  be  denied,  broke  down  for  a  little  while,  because  she 
was  spent  with  endeavour  and  the  wild  tumult  of  the  Stuart's 
coming.  And  Rupert,  tugging  at  his  oar,  watched  the  Prince 
persuade  her  to  lie  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  coble,  saw  him 
take  off  his  plaid  and  cover  her  with  practical  and  quiet  so- 
licitude, as  if  he  had  the  right  to  guard  her. 

And  through  the  rest  of  that  night-crossing  the  Prince  kept 
stubborn  guard  about  his  rescuer,  who  was  sleeping  now  like 
a  child,  lest  any  of  the  rowers  should  touch  her  with  his  foot 
in  moving  up  and  down  to  ease  his  limbs.  And  Rupert, 
though  his  wits  were  muddled  with  incessant  toil  by  land  and 
sea,  felt  something  stir  at  the  soul  of  him,  as  he  saw  the  way 


S76  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

of  the  Prince's  regard  for  this  daughter  of  the  MacDonalds. 
Again  it  seemed  to  him  that  these  two  had  known  each  other 
long  ago,  before  the  world  grew  old,  and  tired,  and  prone  to 
gossip.  And  again  he  remembered  Nance  Demaine,  who  had 
touched  his  boyhood  with  the  fire  that  does  not  die. 

They  came  to  Monkstadt  in  safety,  but  learned  that  the 
enemy  was  in  possession  of  the  house.  And  afterwards  it  was 
to  and  fro  on  foot  across  the  good  isle  of  Skye,  for  many  days, 
until  they  came  to  the  house  of  Kingsborough,  where  Flora's 
home  was  with  her  mother  and  stepfather. 

It  was  a  queer .  incoming,  touched  with  laughter  and  the 
needs  of  every  day,  as  all  big  enterprises  are  until  we  view 
them  in  the  retrospect.  There  was  Kingsborough — the  big- 
gest of  the  big  MacDonalds — going  in  before  to  prepare  his 
wife  for  the  intrusion.  And  he  was  manifestly  afraid,  as  the 
big,  open-air  men  are  when  they  are  dwarfed  by  house-walls 
and  the  indoor  cleanliness. 

Kingsborough,  after  bowing  the  Prince  into  the  square,  tidy 
hall,  asked  leave  to  go  up  and  tell  his  wife  the  news.  And 
presently,  from  above  stairs — while  Flora  and  the  Stuart 
waited  in  the  hall — the  laird's  wife  broke  into  practical  and 
shrill  complaint. 

"  There's  the  danger,  Kingsborough ;  and,  fore-bye,  there's 
so  little  in  the  house.  Collops,  and  eggs,  and  a  dish  of  oat- 
meal— how  should  I  face  the  Prince,  God  bless  him,  with  eggs 
and  collops  ?  " 

The  Prince  laughed  suddenly.  And  Miss  MacDonald, 
standing  apart  with  the  unrest  and  trouble  of  her  deepening 
regard  for  the  Stuart  she  had  rescued,  glanced  across  at  him, 
wondering  that  he  could  be  gay;  and  then  she  laughed  with 
him,  for  the  tart  good-humour  of  her  mother's  voice  was  prac- 
tical, and  far  removed  from  the  glamour  the  two  fugitives  had 
shared. 

"  You  may  face  me,  Mrs.  MacDonald,"  he  said,  going  to 
the  stairfoot.  "  Collops  and  eggs  are  dainties  to  me  these 
days ;  and,  indeed,  I  am  very  hungry." 


THE  GLORY  OF  IT  377 

So  there  was  a  hurried  toilet  made,  and  the  mistress  of  the 
house  came  down,  half  of  her  the  laird's  wife,  instinct  with  the 
dignity  that  knows  its  station,  the  other  half  a  picture  of  curi- 
osity, surprise,  bewildered  curtseys,  because  the  Stuart  claimed 
her  hospitality. 

They  supped  that  night  as  if  they  dined  in  state.  To  any 
meal,  to  any  company,  the  Prince  brought  that  grace  which  is 
not  lightly  won — the  grace  to  touch  common  things  with  po- 
etry, and  to  make  a  dish  of  collops  as  proud  as  if  it  were  a 
boar's  head  brought  in  to  table  by  stately  lackeys. 

Rupert,  supping  with  them,  noted  less  the  Prince's  great  air 
of  ease — he  was  accustomed  to  it  long  ago — than  the  punctil- 
ious and  minute  regard  he  showed  to  Miss  MacDonald. 
Whenever  she  moved  to  leave  the  room — intent  on  seeing  to 
the  dishes  in  the  kitchen — he  rose  and  bowed  her  out.  When 
she  returned,  he  rose,  and  would  not  be  seated  till  she  had 
taken  her  place  again. 

"  You'll  turn  poor  Flora's  head,  your  Highness,"  said  Mrs. 
MacDonald  once,  after  Flora  had  gone  out,  some  shrewd  ma- 
ternal instinct  warring  with  her  loyalty. 

"  The  head  that  guided  me  from  Uist  to  Skye,  and  to  your 
hospitality,  would  not  be  lightly  turned.  I  choose  to  honour 
your  daughter,  Mrs.  MacDonald,  by  your  leave." 

"  But,  your  Highness,  she's  only  a  daft  slip  of  a  girl.  I 
weaned  and  reared  her,  and  should  know." 

"You  did  not  cross  with  us  from  Uist.  And  afterwards 
there  were  the  days  and  nights  in  Skye,  the  rains,  and  the  pa- 
tient watching;  madam,  as  God  sees  us,  Miss  Flora  carries 
the  bravest  soul  in  Scotland.  I  .cannot  do  her  too  much  hon- 
our." 

Kingsborough,  big  and  simple-hearted— his  wife,  thrifty 
and  not  prone  to  sentiment— looked  at  their  guest  with  frank 
astonishment.  He  had  been  so  gay,  so  debonair,  until  a 
chance  word  had  touched  the  depths  in  him.  How  could  they 
understand  him?  They  had  not  been  through  the  glamour 
and  wild  seas,  as  he  had  been  since  Miss  MacDonald  came  to 


378  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

serve  him.  They  did  not  know  the  clean,  quick  love  that  had 
lain  here  in  wait  for  him  among  the  western  isles. 

Flora  came  in  again,  carrying  a  dish  of  hot  scones.  She 
was  aware  of  some  new  gravity  that  had  settled  on  the  com- 
pany, and  her  glance  sought  the  Prince's  with  instinctive  ques- 
tion. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  was  praising  Miss  MacDonald  in  her 
absence.  You  must  forgive  me." 

Late  that  night,  when  he  and  Rupert  were  alone  with  their 
host,  the  Prince  fell  into  a  mood  of  reckless  gaiety.  For  a 
while  his  journeyings  were  ended.  He  had  supped  royally; 
he  was  to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  a  mattress  and  clean  sheets, 
after  many  nights  spent  in  the  heather  or  in  wave-swept 
boats;  and  the  sheer  physical  comfort  of  it  was  strangely 
pleasant. 

He  was  a  good  companion,  with  a  story  here,  a  jest  there, 
that  set  big  Kingsborough  laughing  till  he  feared  to  wake  the 
goodwife  up  above.  He  taught  the  laird  the  true  way  of  mix- 
ing whisky-punch.  He  would  not  be  cajoled  to  bed,  because 
the  respite  of  this  sitting  beside  a  warm  hearth,  with  friends 
beside  him  and  Miss  MacDonald  somewhere  in  the  house,  was 
more  than  food  and  drink  to  him. 

"  We  must  make  an  early  start,  to-morrow,"  said  Kings- 
borough,  when  at  last  his  guest  rose.  "  It  is  imperative,  your 
Highness." 

"  No,  friend,"  said  the  other,  with  pleasant  unconcern. 
"  To-night  I  sleep — I  tell  you,  I  must  sleep.  The  most  will- 
ing horse,  Mr.  MacDonald,  has  need  of  the  stable  in  between- 
whiles." 

He  knew  himself  and  his  needs ;  and,  with  a  purpose  as  set- 
tled as  his  zeal  at  other  times  to  undergo  wakefulness  and  un- 
remitting hardship,  he  slept  that  night  so  deep  that  only  armed 
intrusion  would  have  roused  him. 

Kingsborough  and  Rupert,  pacing  up  and  down  below 
stairs  the  next  morning,  were  consumed  with  dread  for  the 
Stuart's  safety.  The  laird's  wife  feared  every  moment  that 


THE  GLORY  OF  IT  379 

the  enemy  would  come  battering  at  her  door.    Only  Miss 
MacDonald  was  cool  and  practical. 

"His  Highness  has  the  gift  of  knowing  when  to  keep 
awake,"  she  said,  a  little  undernote  of  pride  and  tenderness  in 
her  voice—"  the  gift  of  knowing  when  to  sleep." 

And  her  faith  was  justified.  The  Prince  came  down  two 
hours  beyond  the  time  that  Kingsborough  had  planned — came 
down  with  a  light  step,  and  a  face  from  which  sleep  had  wiped 
away  a  year  of  sorrow.  He  bade  farewell  to  the  laird's  wife, 
who  was  crying  like  a  child  to  see  him  so  pleasantly  in  love 
with  danger,  and  was  turning  from  the  door,  when  he  began 
to  bleed  at  the  nose.  Kingsborough's  wife  handed  him  a  ker- 
chief, bewailing  the  ill  omen. 

"  No,"  said  the  Prince,  with  unconquerable  twisting  of 
crooked  issues  to  a  clean,  straight  shape.  "  The  omen's  good. 
Blood  has  been  shed  for  me,  and  I'm  paying  a  few  of  my 
debts,  Mrs.  MacDonald.  I  should  not  like  it  to  be  said  that  I 
left  your  Highland  country  a  defaulter." 

The  three  of  them  set  out — the  Prince,  and  Flora,  and  Ru- 
pert— and  Kingsborough  turned  suddenly  from  watching  the 
Stuart  out  of  sight.  "  By  God,  wife,"  he  said  suddenly, 
"  we've  given  houseroom  to  a  man ! " 

"  He's  for  death,  Hugh,"  the  goodwife  answered,  her  thrifty 
mind  returning  to  calculation  of  the  odds  against  the  fugitive. 

Kingsborough  took  a  wide  look  at  the  hills,  where  sun  and 
mist  and  shadows  chased  each  other  across  the  striding  rises. 
"  Death  ?  "  he  snapped.  "  It  comes  soon  or  late — but  the  soul 
of  a  man  outrides  it." 

It  was  on  their  way  to  Portree  that  the  three  fugitives 
learned  how  clearly  Miss  MacDonald's  faith  in  her  Prince  had 
been  justified.  They  met  a  shepherd— Donald  MacDonald  by 
name — who  told  them  that,  two  hours  before,  "  the  foreign- 
ers "  had  been  up  and  down  between  Portree  and  Kingsbor- 
ough, searching  for  the  Prince.  They  had  left  the  island  a 
half-hour  ago,  he  added,  following  some  new  rumour  that  his 
Highness  was  still  hiding  in  South  Uist. 


380  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  If  I'd  not  slept  so  late,  we  should  all  three  of  us  have  been 
taken,  Miss  MacDonald,"  said  the  Prince,  as  they  went  for- 
ward. 

"  I  trusted  you,"  sh£  answered.  And  the  quietness  of  her 
voice  rang  like  a  bugle-call. 

And  Rupert,  with  that  fine  sixth  sense  that  a  man  learns 
from  hazard  and  night-riding,  knew  that  these  two  were  talk- 
ing with  the  freemasonry  of  souls  that  have  learned  kinship 
and  proved  it  through  long,  disastrous  roads. 

They  went  to  Portree,  and  found  an  eight-oared  boat  there, 
with  seven  rowers  in  it.  Rupert  went  on  board,  took  his  place 
at  the  eighth  oar.  And  again,  as  far  away  in  Uist — and  years 
ago,  it  seemed — he  watched  the  Prince  and  Miss  MacDonald 
foregathered  on  the  shore.  In  Uist  they  had  met,  these  two, 
under  a  driving  wind  that  blew  across  the  tempered  radiance 
of  the  June  night  hours.  Here  they  were  standing  in  hot  day- 
light, with  never  a  breeze  to  ruffle  the  happy  face  of  land  and 
sea.  And  yet  they  had  been  glad  in  Uist,  with  the  storm 
about  them;  and  here  in  Skye  they  stood,  and  looked  at  one 
another,  and  were  empty  of  all  hope. 

They  had  spent  few  days  together,  as  time  is  reckoned,  the 
Prince  and  Miss  MacDonald  of  the  isles.  But  the  days  they 
shared  had  been  packed  full  of  hardship,  danger  of  pursuing 
soldiery,  peril  of  their  warm,  human  liking  for  each  other — the 
human  liking  that  gains  depth  and  strength  from  trouble. 
The  Prince  had  gone  through  a  Scotland  set  thick  with  women 
who  asked  a  love-lock,  a  glance,  and  all  that  follows.  He  had 
kept  troth  instead  with  the  stubborn  march  of  men  who  fol- 
lowed the  open  road  with  him.  Women  came  before  and 
after  strife — that  had  been  his  gospel,  until  he  met  Miss  Mac- 
Donald,  good  to  look  at,  and  brave  to  rescue  him. 

And  now  they  stood  together  on  the  shore  of  Portree  Bay. 
They  were  Prince  and  loyal  subject,  and  yet  they  were  chil- 
dren crying  in  the  dark,  needing  each  other,  heartsick  at  part- 
ing, ready,  if  their  faith  had  been  a  little  weaker,  to  catch  at 


THE  GLORY  OF  IT  881 

the  coward's  proverb  that  the  world  is  well  lost  for  a  love  for- 
bidden. 

To  these  two,  parting  on  the  edge  of  Portree  Bay,  there 
came  a  sudden  intuition  of  the  soul.  They  saw — almost  as  if 
it  stood  between  them — a  sword,  keen-edged,  and  clean,  and 
silvery — the  sword  that  had  guarded  them  safely  through 
worse  dangers  than  gunboats  and  the  stormy  seas.  They  saw 
the  days  behind — the  few  days  granted  them  for  comradeship 
— the  years  stretching  out  and  out  ahead,  empty  and  steep  and 
wind-swept  as  the  lone  hill-tracks  of  Skye. 

The  rowers  waited,  impatient  to  be  off,  because  each  mo- 
ment lost  was  packed  with  danger.  But  these  two  would 
never  again  fear  any  sort  of  hazard;  they  had  gained  too 
much,  were  losing  too  much. 

Their  glances  met.  One  was  taking  the  high  road  trod  by 
the  bleeding  feet  of  royalty;  the  other  was  taking  the  low 
road,  that  led  to  the  house  of  Kingsborough,  its  maddening, 
quiet  routine  of  housewifery — mending  of  the  laird's  stock- 
ings, seeing  that  Mrs.  MacDonald's  fowls  were  tended,  going, 
day  by  day,  and  year  by  year,  through  the  sick,  meaningless 
routine  of  housework. 

And  one  knew  that,  wherever  his  feet  were  planted,  his 
heart  would  return  constantly  to  the  misty  isle  that  had  taught 
him  the  strong  love  and  the  lasting.  And  the  other  knew  that 
she  would  never  cease  to  look  out  from  Kingsborough 's  win- 
dows, when  leisure  served,  and  trick  herself  into  the  belief 
that  her  man  was  returning — crowned  or  uncrowned,  she 
cared  not  which — was  returning,  with  the  wind  in  his  feet  and 
the  glad  look  in  his  face,  to  tell  her  all  the  things  unspoken 
during  these  last  days  of  trial. 

The  sun  beat  hot  on  the  rowers'  backs,  and  this  parting 
seemed  long  to  them.  To  Miss  MacDonald  and  the  Prince  it 
seemed  brief,  because  the  coming  separation  showed  endless 
as  eternity. 

And  then  at  last  the  Prince  stooped  to  her  hand,  and  kissed 


382  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

it.     "  Your  servant,  Miss  MacDonald,"  he  said — "  your  serv- 
ant till  I  die,  God  knows." 

Rupert  watched  it  all  with  eyes  trained  to  understanding. 
And,  when  the  fugitives  were  aboard  and  they  were  straining 
at  their  oars,  he  was  sure  that  the  Prince  would  give  one  long, 
backward  glance  at  Miss  MacDonald.  But  the  Stuart  was 
older  to  life's  teaching,  and  would  not  look  behind  when  he 
had  chosen  the  plain  road  ahead.  His  eyes  were  set  forward 
— forward,  over  the  dappled,  summer  seas,  to  the  days  of 
hiding  and  unrest  waiting  for  him.  And  through  his  bitter- 
ness and  lonely  need  for  Miss  MacDonald  he  found  a  keen, 
high  courage,  as  the  man's  way  is.  And  Flora  MacDonald,  as 
the  woman's  way  is,  watched  the  boat  grow  less  and  less  until 
it  was  a  dark  speck  dancing  on  a  sea  of  violet,  and  green,  and 
amethyst,  and  fought  for  the  resignation  that  brings  peace,  but 
never  the  trumpet-note  of  gladness  that  had  kept  her  company 
on  the  dangerous  seas. 


CHAPTER:  xxi 

LOVE    IN    EXILE 

THE  Skye  boatmen  took  their  Prince  safely  to  the  mainland, 
and  were  not  ashamed  because  they  wept  at  parting  from  him. 
And  then  the  Stuart  and  Sir  Jasper's  heir  set  out  again  along 
the  lone  tracks  that  taught  them  understanding  of  each  other 
— understanding  of  the  world  that  does  not  show  its  face 
among  the  crowded  haunts  where  men  lie  and  slander  and 
drive  hard  bargains  one  against  the  other.  Their  bodies  were 
hard,  for  wind  and  weather  had  toughened  them  till  they  were 
lean  and  rugged  as  upland  trees  that  have  grown  strong  with 
storm.  Their  courage  was  steady,  because  all  except  life  was 
lost.  And  at  their  hearts  there  was  a  quick,  insistent  music, 
as  if  the  pipes  were  playing.  They  were  fighting  against  long 
odds,  and  they  were  northern  born;  and  the  world,  in  some 
queer  way,  went  not  amiss  with  them. 

Rupert,  in  between  the  journeys  and  the  vigils  shared  with 
the  Prince,  was  often  abroad  on  the  errands  that  had  grown 
dear  to  him  since  coming  into  Scotland.  He  would  ride  here, 
ride  there,  with  night  and  danger  for  companions,  gathering 
news  of  the  enemies,  the  friends,  who  could  be  counted  on. 
And  he  found  constantly  the  stirring  knowledge  that,  though 
he  had  not  been  keen  to  ride  to  hounds  in  Lancashire,  he  was 
hot  to  take  his  fences  now. 

On  one  of  these  days  he  rode  in,  tired  and  spent,  bringing 
news  from  the  braes  of  Glenmoriston,  and  found  the  Stuart 
smoking  his  pipe,  while  he  skinned  a  deer  that  he  had  shot. 

"You  are  killing  yourself  for  loyalty,"  said  the  Prince, 
glancing  at  him  with  a  sudden,  friendly  smile. 

"  By  your  leave,  sir,"  said  Rupert,  as  if  he  talked  of  Mur- 
ray's plain  arithmetic,  "  I  am  alive  at  last." 

383 


384  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  You're  made  of  the  martyr's  stuff,"  said  the  other. 

"  Your  Highness,  they  called  me  the  scholar  there  in  Lan- 
cashire, and  I  knew  what  that  meant.  I  am  trying  to  outride 
the  shame." 

Rupert  was  tired  out  The  Prince  was  tired  at  heart,  be- 
cause of  Culloden,  because  of  Miss  MacDonald,  whom  he  was 
not  to  see  again,  and  all  the  dreams  that  had  tumbled  from 
the  high  skies  to  sordid  earth.  Neither  of  them  had  tasted 
food  for  six-and-thirty  hours.  And  at  these  times  men  are 
apt  to  find  a  still,  surprising  companionship,  such  as  the 
tramps  know  who  foot  it  penniless  along  the  roads. 

"  We  have  found  our  kingdom,  you  and  I,"  said  the  Prince, 
with  sudden  intuition — "  here  on  the  upland  tracks,  where  a 
man  learns  something  of  the  God  who  made  him." 

Rupert  looked  out  across  the  mountains,  blue-purple  in  the 
gloaming,  and  caught  the  other's  mood,  and  spoke  as  a  friend 
does  to  a  friend,  when  the  heart  needs  a  confidant.  "  It  is  all 
a  riddle,"  he  said  slowly.  "  I  thought  all  lost,  after  Culloden — 
and  yet  I've  tasted  happiness,  tasted  it  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life.  To  carry  your  life  on  the  saddle  with  me,  to  keep  open 
eyes  when  I'm  sick  for  sleep,  to  know  that  the  Stuart  trusts 
me — I  tell  you,  I  have  tasted  glory." 

The  Prince  turned  his  head  aside.  This  was  the  loyalty 
known  to  him  since  he  first  set  foot  in  Scotland,  the  service  he 
claimed,  he  knew  not  why,  from  gentle  and  simple  of  his  well- 
wishers.  And  he  was  remembering  how  many  of  these  eager 
folk  had  died  on  his  behalf,  was  forgetting  that  he,  too,  had 
gone  sleepless  through  peril  and  disaster  because  he  carried  at 
his  saddle-bow,  not  one  life  only,  but  a  kingdom's  fate. 

"Your  news  from  Glenmoriston,  sir?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"  Pleasant  news.     A  man  has  died  for  you,  with  gallantry." 

"  You  call  it  pleasant  news  ?  " 

"  Listen,  your  Highness !  It  was  one  Roderick  MacKenzie 
— he  was  a  merchant  in  Edinburgh,  and  left  the  town  to  follow 
you ;  and  he  found  his  way,  after  Culloden,  to  the  hills  about 
Glenmoriston.  He  was  alone,  and  a  company  of  the  enemy 


LOVE  IN  EXILE  385 

surprised  him ;  and  he  faced  them,  and  killed  two  before  they 
overcame  him ;  and  he  died  in  anguish,  but  found  strength  to 
lift  himself  just  before  the  end.  He  knew  that  he  was  like 
you,  in  height  and  face,  and  cried, '  God  forgive  you,  you  have 
killed  your  Prince ! ' ' 

"  It  was  brave ;  it  was  well  meant.  But,  sir,  it  is  not  pleas- 
ant news." 

"  He  bought  your  safety.  They  are  carrying  his  head  to 
London  to  claim  the  ransom.  And  the  troops  have  left  the 
hills,  your  Highness — they  believe  you  dead." 

"  I  wish  their  faith  were  justified,"  said  the  other,  with  the 
bitterness  that  always  tortured  him  when  he  heard  that  men 
had  died  on  his  behalf.  "  Your  pardon,"  he  added  by  and  by. 
"  I  should  thank  you  for  the  news — and  yet  I  cannot." 

The  next  day  they  climbed  the  brae  and  went  down  the  long, 
heathery  slope  that  took  them  to  Glenmoriston ;  and  nowhere 
was  there  ambush  or  pursuit,  as  Rupert  had  foretold — only 
crying  of  the  birds  on  hilly  pastures,  and  warmth  of  the  July 
sun  as  it  ripened  the  ling  to  full  bloom,  and  humming  of  the 
bees  among  the  early  bell-heather. 

They  came  to  the  glen  at  last,  and  ahead  of  them,  a  half-mile 
away,  there  was  blue  smoke  rising  from  the  chimney  of  a 
low,  ill-thatched  farmstead.  And  the  Prince  touched  Rupert's 
arm  as  they  moved  forward. 

"  Lord,  how  hunger  drums  at  a  man's  ribs ! "  he  said,  with  a 
tired  laugh.  "If  there  were  all  the  Duke's  army  lying  in  wait 
for  us  yonder,  we  should  still  go  on,  I  think.  There  may  be 
collops  there,  and  eggs— all  the  good  cheer  that  Mrs.  Mac- 
Donald  thought  scanty  when  we  came  to  the  laird's  house  at 
Kingsborough." 

"By  your  leave,"  said  Rupert  gravely,  "it  does  not  bear 
speaking  of.  I  begin  to  understand  how  Esau  felt  when  he 
sold  his  birthright  for  a  mess  of  pottage." 

They  reached  the  house,  and  they  found  there  six  outlaws 
of  the  hills,  ready  with  the  welcome  Rupert  had  made  secure 
before  he  led  the  Prince  here.  They  had  entrenched  them- 


S86  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

selves  in  this  wild  glen,  had  ridden  abroad,  robbing  with  dis- 
cretion, but  never  hurting  a  man  who  was  too  poor  to  pay 
tribute.  Their  name  was  a  byword  for  cattle-lifting,  and  they 
lived  for  plunder.  Yet,  somehow,  when  the  Stuart  came 
among  them,  with  thirty  thousand  pounds  easy  in  the  gaining, 
they  disdained  blood-money. 

For  all  that,  another  hope  of  the  Prince's  crumbled  and 
went  by  him,  after  he  had  greeted  his  new  hosts.  There  were 
neither  eggs  nor  collops  in  the  house — only  a  dish  of  oatmeal, 
without  milk  to  ease  its  roughness.  The  Glenmoriston  men 
explained  that  Cumberland's  soldiery  had  been  about  the  glen, 
had  raided  their  cattle  and  sheep,  had  laid  bare  the  country- 
side. 

"  For  all  that,"  said  the  Prince,  unconquerable  in  disaster, 
"  I  thank  you  for  your  oatmeal.  As  God  sees  me,  you  have 
stilled  a  little  of  the  ache  I  had." 

And  the  Glenmoriston  men  liked  the  way  of  him.  And 
when,  next  day,  he  and  Rupert  went  up  the  hills  and  stalked  a 
deer,  and  brought  it  home  for  the  cooking,  their  loyalty  was 
doubled. 

Through  the  days  that  followed  the  outlaws  found  leisure  to 
prove  the  guests  they  harboured.  In  the  hill  countries  a  man's 
reputation  stands,  not  on  station  or  fair  words,  but  on  the 
knowledgable,  quiet  outlook  his  neighbours  bring  to  bear  on 
him.  And  ever  a  little  more  the  outlaws  liked  these  two,  who 
were  lean  and  hard  and  weather-bitten  as  themselves. 

The  Prince  would  not  claim  shelter  in  the  house,  because 
long  use  had  taught  him  to  prefer  a  bed  among  the  heather. 
And  Rupert,  lying  near  by  o'  nights,  learned  more  of  the  Stu- 
art than  all  these  last  disastrous  days  had  taught  him.  When 
a  man  sleeps  in  the  open,  forgetting  there  may  be  a  listener, 
he  is  apt  to  lose  his  hold  on  the  need  for  reticence  that  house 
walls  bring. 

The  Prince,  half  between  sleep  and  waking,  would  lift  him- 
self on  an  elbow,  would  murmur  that  men  had  died  for  him — 
men  better  than  himself,  who  had  followed  him  for  loyalty 


LOVE  IN  EXILE  387 

and  not  for  hire,  men  whom  he  should  have  shepherded  to 
better  purpose.  And  then  he  would  snatch  an  hour  or  two  of 
sleep,  and  would  wake  again  with  a  question,  sharp  and  hur- 
ried and  unquiet. 

"Where's  Miss  MacDonald?  She's  in  danger.  The  seas 
are  riding  high— they're  riding  high,  I  say !— and  there's  only 
my  poor  plaid  to  cover  her." 

And  so  it  was  always  when  the  Prince  rambled  in  his  sleep. 
There  was  never  a  complaint  on  his  own  behalf,  never  a  wild 
lament  that  he  was  skulking,  a  broken  man,  among  the  moun- 
tains after  coming  near  to  London  and  high  victory.  He  had 
two  griefs  only,  in  the  night  hours  that  probe  to  the  heart  of 
a  man — passionate  regret  for  the  slain,  passionate  regard  for 
Miss  MacDonald's  safety. 

And  once  the  Prince,  though  he  lay  in  a  dead  sleep,  began 
to  speak  of  Miss  MacDonald  with  such  praise,  such  settled 
and  devout  regard,  that  Rupert  got  up  from  the  heather  and 
went  out  into  the  still  summer  night,  lest  he  pried  too  curiously 
into  sacred  things.  And  as  he  went  up  and  down  the  glen, 
scenting  the  subtle  odours  that  steal  out  at  night-time,  his 
thoughts  ran  back  to  Lancashire.  It  seemed  long  since  he  had 
roamed  the  moors  in  bygone  summers,  with  just  these  keen, 
warm  scents  about  him,  counting  himself  the  scholar,  aching 
for  Nance  Demaine,  dreaming  high,  foolish  dreams  of  a  day 
that  should  come  which  would  prove  him  fit  to  wear  her  fa- 
vour. 

And  he  was  here,  leaner  and  harder  than  of  old,  with  a  deed 
or  two  to  his  credit.  And  he  had  learned  a  week  ago,  while 
riding  on  the  Prince's  business,  that  Lady  Royd  and  Nance  had 
come  to  Edinburgh,  intent  on  sharing  the  work  of  brave 
women  there  who  were  aiding  fugitives,  by  means  fair  or 
crafty,  to  reach  the  shores  of  France.  He  knew  that  his 
father  and  Maurice  were  safely  over-seas ;  and  a  sudden  hope 
flashed  across  the  hard,  unremitting  purpose  that  had  kept  his 
knees  close  about  the  saddle  these  last  days.  When  the  Prince 
was  secure,  when  these  hazards  were  over — the  hazards  that 


388  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

had  grown  strangely  pleasant — there  might  be  leisure  to  return 
to  earlier  dreams,  to  wake  and  find  them  all  come  true. 

For  an  hour  Rupert  paced  the  glen,  with  gentler  thoughts 
for  company  than  he  had  known  since  he  first  killed  a  man 
at  the  siege  of  Windyhough.  Then,  with  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  he  remembered  to-morrow  and  its  needs,  and  went 
back  and  settled  himself  to  sleep ;  but  he  did  not  lie  so  near  to 
the  Prince  as  before,  lest  he  overhear  him  talk  again  of  Miss 
MacDonald. 

The  next  day  news  came  that  the  soldiery  were  out  among 
the  hills  again.  The  gallant  head  of  Roderick  MacKenzie, 
who  had  earned  a  long  respite  for  his  Prince,  had  been  taken 
to  London,  and  men  who  knew  the  Stuart  had  sworn  that  it 
bore  little  likeness  to  him ;  and  news  had  been  sped  north,  by 
riders  killing  a  horse  at  every  journey's  end,  that  the  Prince 
was  still  at  large  among  the  Highlands. 

The  Glenmoriston  men  were  unmoved  by  this  new  trouble. 
They  explained,  with  careless  humour,  that  their  glen  was 
already  so  stripped  of  food  as  to  be  scarce  worth  living  in; 
and  they  went  out  with  their  guests  into  the  unknown  perils 
waiting  for  them  as  if  they  went  to  revelry.  And  the  Prince 
learned  afresh  that  a  man,  when  his  back  is  to  the  wall,  had 
best  not  seek  friends  among  the  sleek  and  prosperous,  who 
have  cherished  toys  to  love,  but  among  the  outlaws  and  the 
driven  folk  who  know  the  open  road  of  life. 

It  was  by  aid  of  the  Glenmoriston  men,  their  knowledge 
of  the  passes,  that  the  fugitives  came  safe  to  Lochiel's  country 
of  Lochaber,  that,  after  dangers  so  close-set  as  to  be  almost 
laughable — so  long  the  odds  against  them  were — they  reached 
the  shore  of  Loch  Moidart  and  found  a  French  privateer  beat- 
ing about  the  coast.  Those  on  board  the  ship  were  keeping  an 
anxious  look-out  toward  both  land  and  sea ;  they  had  been 
advised  that  the  Prince,  with  luck,  might  reach  Moidart  about 
noon,  and  they  knew,  from  sharp  experience  during  their 
voyage  to  the  bay,  that  the  enemy's  gunboats  were  thick  as 
flies  about  the  western  isles. 


LOVE  IN  EXILE  389 

It  was  an  odd  company  that  gathered  on  the  strand  while 
the  ship  beat  inshore  with  the  half  of  a  light,  uncertain  wind. 
The  Prince  was  there,  Lochiel  and  Rupert,  and  a  small  band 
of  loyal  gentry  who  had  been  in  hiding  round  about  their 
homes.  Yet  a  beggar  in  his  rags  and  tatters  might  have  joined 
them  and  claimed  free  passage  to  the  French  coast,  so  far  as 
outward  seeming  went.  Their  clothes  were  made  up  of  odds 
and  ends,  begged  or  borrowed  during  the  long  retreat.  All 
were  itching  from  the  attacks  of  the  big,  lusty  fleas  that 
abound  along  the  loyal  isles.  The  one  sign  that  proved  them 
the  Stuart's  gentlemen  was  a  certain  temperate  ease  of  car- 
riage, a  large  disdain  of  circumstance,  a  security,  gay  and  dom- 
inant, in  the  faith  that  preferred  beggarman's  rags  to  fine  rai- 
ment bought  by  treachery.  They  did  not  fear,  did  not  regret, 
though  they  were  leaving  all  that  meant  home  and  the  cosy 
hearth. 

The  Prince,  while  the  French  ships  were  beating  inshore, 
took  Lochiel  aside.  Through  the  wild  campaign  they  had  been 
like  twin  brothers,  these  two,  showing  the  same  keen  faith, 
the  like  courage  under  hardship. 

"  Lochiel,  you  know  the  country  better  than  I.  You're  bred 
to  your  good  land,  while  I  was  only  born  to  it.  You  will  tell 
me  where  the  Isle  of  Skye  lies  from  here." 

"  Yonder,"  said  the  other,  pointing  across  the  grey-blue  haze 
of  summer  seas. 

And  the  Prince  stood  silent,  thinking  of  the  victory  there 
in  Skye — the  victory  that  had  left  him  wearier  than  Culloden's 
sick  defeat  had  done.  And  Lochiel,  who  had  had  his  own 
affairs  to  attend  to  lately,  and  had  been  aloof  from  gossip, 
wondered  as  he  saw  the  trouble  in  the  other's  face. 

The  Prince  turned  at  last.  "  Lochiel,"  he  said,  with  a  tired 
smile,  "how  does  the  Usurper's  proclamation  run?  Thirty 
thousand  pounds  on  my  head— dead  or  alive !  Well,  alive  or 
dead,  I  wish  this  tattered  body  of  mine  were  still  in  Skye— in 
Skye,  Lochiel,  where  I  left  the  soul  of  me." 

"  You  are  sad,  your  Highness " 


390  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  Sad  ?  Nay,  I've  waded  deeper  than  mere  sadness,  like 
the  Skye  mists  out  yonder.  Well,  we  stand  where  we  stand, 
friend,"  he  added,  with  sharp  return  from  dreams,  "  and  the 
ship  is  bringing  to." 

There  was  still  a  little  while  before  the  boats  were  lowered 
from  the  shore,  and  the  Prince,  pacing  up  and  down  the  strand, 
encountered  Rupert.  "  A  fine  ending !  "  he  said,  with  temper- 
ate bitterness.  "  I  landed  in  Lochaber  from  France  with  seven 
gentlemen.  I  go  back  with  a  few  more.  This  is  the  fruit  of 
your  toil,  Mr.  Royd — and  of  mine." 

And,  "  No,  by  your  leave,"  said  Rupert.  "  Your  Highness 
has  lit  a  fire  that  will  never  die — a  fire  of  sheer  devotion " 

"  Ah !  the  courtier  speaks." 

Rupert's  voice  broke,  harshly  and  without  any  warning.  He 
saw  his  Prince  in  evil  case,  when  he  should  have  been  a  con- 
queror. He  remembered  the  night  rides,  the  faith,  that  had 
had  the  crowning  of  the  Stuart  as  their  goal.  "A  broken 
heart  speaks — a  heart  broken  in  your  service,  sir,"  he  said. 

The  man's  strength,  his  candid,  deep  simplicity,  struck  home 
to  the  Prince,  bringing  a  foolish  mist  about  his  eyes.  "  Your 
love  goes  deep  as  that  ?  "  he  said. 

"  It  goes  deeper  than  my  love  of  life,  your  Highness." 

So  then,  after  a  silence,  the  other  laid  a  strong  kindly  hand 
on  his  shoulder.  "  You'll  go  far  and  well  for  me,  sir — but 
put  away  that  superstition  of  the  broken  heart.  Believe  me, 
for  I  know  " — he  glanced  across  the  misty  stretch  of  sea  that 
divided  him  from  Skye — "  there  are  broken  hopes,  and  broken 
dreams,  and  disaster  sobbing  at  one's  ears,  but  a  man — a  man, 
sir,  does  not  permit  his  heart  to  break.  You  and  I — I  think 
we  have  our  pride." 

When  the  boats  grounded  on  the  beach,  the  Prince  waited 
till  his  gentlemen  got  first  aboard,  and  at  last  there  were  only 
himself  and  Rupert  left  standing  on  the  shore. 

"  You  will  precede  me,  Mr.  Royd.  It  is  my  privilege  just 
now  to  follow,  not  to  lead,"  said  the  Prince. 

"  Your  Highness,  I  stay,  by  your  leave." 


LOVE  IN  EXILE  391 

The  mist  had  been  creeping  down  from  the  tops  for  the  past 
hour,  and  now  the  light,  outer  fringe  of  it  had  reached  the 
water-line.  The  waiting  boat  lay  in  a  haze  of  mystery;  the 
privateer  beyond  showed  big  and  wraithlike,  though  a  shrouded 
sunlight  still  played  on  the  crests  of  mimic  waves.  And  the 
Stuart  and  Rupert  stood  regarding  each  other  gravely  at  this 
last  meeting  for  many  weeks  to  come. 

"  You  stay  ?  "  echoed  the  Prince.  "  Sir,  you  have  done  so 
much  for  me — and  I  looked  to  have  your  company  during  the 
crossing;  and,  indeed,  you  must  be  ill  of  your  exertions  to 
decline  safety  now." 

Rupert  glanced  at  the  ship,  then  at  the  Stuart's  face.  There 
was  temptation  in  the  longing  to  be  near  his  Prince  until 
France  was  reached,  but  none  in  the  thought  of  personal 
safety.  "  I  lay  awake  last  night,"  he  said  slowly,  "  and  it  grew 
clear,  somehow,  that  I  was  needed  here  in  Scotland.  There's 
the  country  round  Edinburgh,  your  Highness — packed  thick 
with  loyal  men  who  are  waiting  their  chance  to  find  a  ship 
across  to  France — and  I  hold  so  many  threads  that  Oliphant  of 
Muirhouse  would  have  handled  better,  if  he  had  lived." 

"  Why,  then,"  said  the  Prince,  yielding  to  impulse  after  these 
months  of  abnegation,  "  we'll  let  our  friends  set  sail  without 
us.  These  gentry  did  me  service.  You  shall  teach  me  to  re- 
turn it." 

"  Your  Highness,  it  would  ruin  all !  I  can  ride  where  you 
cannot,  because  I'm  of  slight  account " 

"  So  you,  too,  have  your  mathematics,  like  the  rest,"  put  in 
the  other  wearily— "  and  all  your  sums  add  up  to  the  one 
total— that  I  must  be  denied  the  open  hazard.  I  tell  you,  Mr. 
Royd,  it  is  no  luxury  to  take  ship  across  to  France  and  leave 
my  friends  in  danger." 

The  mist  was  thickening,  and  Lochiel,  growing  anxious  on 
account  of  the  delay,  leaped  ashore  and  came  to  where  the 
two  were  standing.  And  the  Prince,  returning  to  the  prose  of 
things,  knew  that  he  must  follow  the  road  of  tired  retreat 
mapped  out  for  him  since  Derby. 


392  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

"  Lochiel,"  he  said  grimly,  "  I  was  planning  an  escape — 
from  safety.  And  your  eyes  accuse  me,  because  my  heart  is 
with  this  gentleman  who  chooses  to  stay  in  Scotland." 

And  then  he  told  what  Rupert  had  in  mind ;  and  Lochiel,  for 
all  the  urgency,  halted  a  moment  to  appraise  this  lean,  tranquil 
man  who  met  the  call  of  destiny  as  if  it  were  an  invitation  to 
some  pleasant  supper-party. 

"  It  was  so  Oliphant  carried  himself,  Mr.  Royd,"  he  said 
gravely.  "  God  knows  I  wish  you  well." 

They  parted.  And  Rupert  watched  their  boat  reach  the  pri- 
vateer, watched  the  ship's  bulk  glide  huge  and  ghostly  into  the 
mists.  He  was  hard  and  zealous,  had  chosen  his  road  deliber- 
ately ;  but  he  was  human,  too,  and  a  sense  of  utter  loneliness 
crept  over  him.  The  Cause  was  lost.  Many  of  his  friends 
would  not  tread  French  or  Scottish  ground  again,  because  the 
soil  lay  over  them.  He  had  not  tasted  food  that  day,  and 
the  mist  seemed  to  be  soaking  into  the  bones  of  him.  And 
loyalty,  that  had  brought  him  to  this  pass,  showed  like  a  dim, 
receding  star  which  mocked  him  as  a  will-o'-the-wisp  might 
do. 

For  all  that,  he  was  born  and  bred  a  Royd,  and  the  discipline 
of  many  months  was  on  his  side.  And,  little  by  little,  he  re- 
gained that  steadiness  of  soul— ^not  to  be  counterfeited  or  re- 
placed by  any  other  joy — which  comes  to  the  man  whose  back 
is  to  the  wall,  with  a  mob  of  dangers  assaulting  him  in  front. 

The  Glenmoriston  men  had  been  offered  their  chance  of  a 
passage  to  France  with  the  Prince,  but  had  declined  it,  prefer- 
ring their  own  country  and  the  dangerous  life  that  had  grown 
second  nature  to  them.  And  Rupert,  knowing  the  glen  to 
which  they  had  ridden  after  speeding  the  Stuart  forward, 
waited  till  the  mists  had  lifted  a  little  and  found  his  way  to 
them. 

They  crossed  themselves  when  he  appeared  among  them  as 
they  sat  on  the  slope  of  the  brae,  cooking  the  midday  meal; 
but  when  he  proved  himself  no  ghost  and  explained  the  reason 
of  his  coming,  and  his  need  to  be  set  on  the  way  to  Edinburgh, 


LOVE  IN  EXILE  393 

they  warmed  afresh  to  his  view  of  that  difficult  business  named 
life.  He  shared  their  meal,  and  afterwards  one  of  their  num- 
ber, Hector,  by  name,  led  him  out  along  the  first  stage  of  his 
journey  south. 

The  mists  had  cleared  by  this  time,  leaving  the  braesides  rus- 
set where  the  sun  swept  the  autumn  brackens,  but  the  mood 
they  bring  to  Highlandmen  was  strong  on  Rupert's  guide. 
Hector  could  find  no  joy  in  life,  no  talk  to  ease  the  going.  In- 
stead, he  fell  into  a  low,  mournful  chant ;  and  the  words  of  it 
were  not  calculated  to  raise  drooping  spirits : 

"  But  I  have  seen  a  dreary  dream 

Beyond  the  Isle  o'  Skye, 
I  saw  a  dead  man  won  the  fight. 
And  I  think  that  man  was  I." 

A  little  chill  crossed  Rupert's  courage,  as  if  a  touch  of  east 
wind  had  come  from  the  heart  of  the  warm  skies.  He  had 
seen  many  dreary  dreams  of  late;  had  fared  beyond  the  Isle 
o'  Skye ;  what  if  Hector  were  "  seeing  far,"  and  this  dirge 
were  an  omen  of  the  coming  days  ?  And  then  he  laughed,  be- 
cause in  the  dangerous  tracks  men  make  their  own  omens  or 
disdain  them  altogether. 

"  You're  near  the  truth,  Hector,"  he  broke  in ;  "  but  it's 
only  a  half-dead  man.  There's  life  yet  in  him." 

And  Hector  glowered  at  him ;  for  the  Highland  folk,  when 
they  are  hugging  sadness  close,  cherish  it  as  a  mother  does 
her  firstborn  babe.  For  all  that,  he  brought  Rupert  safely, 
after  three  days'  marching,  to  the  next  post  of  his  journey,  and 
passed  him  on  to  certain  outlaws  whose  country  lay  farther 
south;  and  by  this  sort  of  help,  after  good  and  evil  weather 
and  some  mischances  by  the  way,  Rupert  came  at  last  to 
Edinburgh  and  reached  the  house  where  he  knew  that  Lady 
Royd  and  Nance  were  lodging. 

The  house  lay  very  near  to  Holyrood ;  and  as  he  went  down 
the  street  Rupert  halted  for  a  while,  forgetful  of  his  errand. 
The  tenderest  moon  that  ever  lit  a  troubled  world  looked  down 


394  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

on  this  palace  of  departed  glories.  The  grey  pile  was  mel- 
lowed, transfigured  by  some  light  o'  dreams.  It  was  as  if  the 
night  knew  all  about  the  Stuarts  who  would  haunt  Holyrood 
so  long  as  its  walls  stood ;  knew  their  haplessness,  their  charm, 
their  steadfast  hold  on  the  fine,  unthrifty  faith  they  held ;  knew 
the  answer  that  some  of  them,  who  had  gone  before,  had 
found  in  the  hereafter  that  does  not  weigh  with  the  shop- 
keepers' scales. 

There  is  a  soul  in  such  walls  as  Holyrood's,  and  Rupert 
stood  as  if  he  held  communion  with  a  friend  whose  sympa- 
thies ran  step  by  step  with  his.  Here  Mary  Stuart  had  stood 
alone,  a  queen  in  name,  facing  the  barbarous,  lewd  nobles 
who  were,  by  title  of  mere  courtesy,  her  gentlemen.  Here 
she  had  seen  Rizzio  hurried  down  the  twisting  stair,  had 
supped  with  her  fool-husband,  Darnley.  From  here  she  had 
gone  out,  the  queen  of  hearts  and  tragedy,  to  that  long  exile 
which  was  to  end  at  Fotheringay. 

Here,  too,  the  Prince  had  kept  high  state,  a  year  ago,  and 
all  Edinburgh  had  flocked  to  dance  a  Stuart  measure.  He 
came  fresh  from  his  first  battle,  crowned  with  victory  and 
charm  of  person;  and  the  clans  were  rising  fast;  and  hope 
shone  bright  toward  London  and  the  crown. 

Rupert  looked  at  the  grey  pile  and  felt  all  this,  as  one 
listens  to  the  silence  of  a  friend  who  does  not  need  to  speak. 
And  then  a  drift  of  cloud  came  across  the  moon,  and  Holyrood 
lay  wan  and  grey.  It  was  as  if  a  sudden  gust  had  quenched 
all  the  candles  that  had  lit  the  ballroom  here  when  the  yellow- 
haired  laddie  came  dancing  south. 

And  still  the  fugitive  tarried.  He  had  been  used  so  long 
to  night  roads  and  the  constant  peril  that  this  dim  light,  and 
the  wind  piping  at  his  ear,  pleased  him  more  than  any  blaze 
of  candles  and  lilt  of  dance-music.  Deep  knowledge  came  to 
him,  bred  of  the  hazards  that  had  made  him  hard  and  lean. 
He  sorrowed  no  more  for  Derby  and  Culloden;  his  present 
thirst  and  hunger  went  by  him,  as  things  of  slight  account; 
for  he  remembered  the  long  months  of  hiding,  the  intimacy 


LOVE  IN  EXILE  395 

he  had  been  privileged  to  share  with  Prince  Charles  Edward. 
There  had  been  no  glamour  of  the  dance,  no  pomp,  about  these 
journeyings  through  the  Highlands;  there  had  been  no  swift, 
eager  challenge  and  applause  from  ladies'  eyes;  and  yet  Ru- 
pert had  tested,  as  few  had  done,  the  fine  edge  and  temper  of 
the  Stuart  charm. 

Here,  under  the  shadow  of  grey  Holyrood,  he  loitered  to 
recall  their  wayfaring  together.  There  had  been  winter  jour- 
neyings through  incessant  rain,  or  snow,  or  winds  that  raved 
down  mountain  passes ;  there  had  been  summer  travels  through 
the  heather,  with  the  sun  beating  pitilessly  on  them,  over  the 
stark  length  of  moors  that  had  none  but  brackish  water  and 
no  shade.  They  had  slept  o'  nights  with  danger  for  a  pillow 
and  the  raw  wind  for  coverlet.  And  through  it  all  the  Prince 
had  shown  a  brave,  unanswerable  front  to  the  sickness  of 
defeat,  the  hiding  when  he  longed  for  action.  If  food  and 
drink  were  scarce,  he  sang  old  clan  songs  or  recalled  light  jests 
and  stories  that  had  once  roused  the  French  Court  to  laughter. 
If  danger  pressed  so  closely  from  all  four  quarters  of  the 
hill  that  escape  seemed  hopeless,  his  cheeriness  infected  those 
about  him  with  a  courage  finer  than  their  own. 

Looking  back  on  these  days,  Rupert  knew  that  no  ball  at 
Holyrood  here,  no  triumph-march  to  London,  could  have 
proved  the  Stuart  as  those  Highland  journeyings  had  done. 
The  Prince  and  he  had  learned  the  way  of  gain  in  loss,  and 
with  it  the  gaiety  that  amazes  weaker  men. 

From  Holyrood — the  moon  free  of  clouds  and  the  grey  walls 
finding  faith  again — a  friendly  message  came  to  him.  He 
caught  the  Stuart  glamour  up — the  true,  abiding  glamour  that 
does  not  yield  to  this  world's  limitations.  What  he  had  read 
in  the  library  at  Windyhough  was  now  a  triumph-song  that 
he  had  found  voice  to  sing. 

He  came  to  the  house  where  .Lady  Royd  was  lodging,  and 
knocked  at  the  door;  and  presently  a  trim  Scots  lassie  opened 
to  him,  and  saw  him  standing  there  in  the  moonlight  of  the 
street,  his  face  haggard,  his  clothes,  made  up  of  borrowed  odds 


396  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

and  ends,  suggesting  disrepute.  She  tried  to  close  the  door 
in  his  face;  but  Rupert  had  anticipated  this,  and  pushed  his 
way  inside. 

"  Is  Miss  Demaine  in  the  house?  "  he  asked. 

The  maid  recovered  a  little  of  her  courage  and  her  native 
tartness.  "  She  is,  forbye.  Have  you  come  buying  old  claes, 
or  are  you  looking  just  for  a  chance  to  steal  siller  from  the 
hoose?" 

Rupert  caught  at  the  help  she  gave  him.  "  There's  the  quick 
wit  ye  have,  my  lass,"  he  said. 

"  Ah,  now,  you'll  not  be  '  my  lassing '  me !  I'll  bid  ye  keep 
your  station,  as  I  keep  mine." 

"  Well,  then,  my  dear,  go  up  to  your  mistress — the  young 
mistress,  I  mean — and  tell  her  there's  a  pedlar  wanting  her — 
a  pedlar  from  the  hills  of  Lancashire.  Tell  her  he  comes 
buying  and  selling  white  favours." 

"  So  you're  just  one  of  us,"  said  the  maid,  with  surprising 
change  of  front.  Then,  her  Scots  caution  getting  the  better 
of  her  again,  "  Your  voice  is  o'  the  gentryfolk,"  she  added, 
"  but  you're  a  queer  body  i'  your  claes.  How  should  I  know 
what  you'd  be  stealing  while  I  ran  up  to  tell  the  mistress  ?  " 

Rupert,  for  answer,  closed  and  barred  the  door  behind  him, 
and  pointed  up  the  stair.  And  then  the  maid,  by  the  master- 
ful, quiet  way  of  him,  knew  that  he  came  peddling  honesty. 

And  by  and  by  Nance  came  down,  guessing  who  had  come, 
because  twice  during  the  past  month  Rupert  had  sent  word  to 
her  by  messengers  encountered  haphazard  in  the  Highland 
country. 

At  the  stairfoot  she  halted,  and  never  saw  what  clothes  he 
wore.  She  looked  only  at  his  hard,  tired  face,  at  the  straight 
carriage  of  him,  as  if  he  stood  on  parade.  And,  without  her 
knowing  it,  or  caring  either  way,  a  welcome,  frank  and  lumi- 
nous, brought  a  sudden  beauty  to  the  face  that  had  been  mag- 
ical enough  to  him  in  the  far-off  Lancashire  days. 

The  warmth  of  the  lighted  hall,  the  sense  of  courage  and 
well-being  that  Nance  had  always  brought  him,  were  in  sharp 


LOVE  IN  EXILE  397 

contrast  with  the  night  and  the  ceaseless  peril  out  of  doors. 
He  went  to  her,  and  took  her  two  hands,  and  would  not  be 
done  with  reading  what  her  eyes  had  to  tell  him.  There  could 
be  no  doubting  what  had  come  to  them — the  love  deep,  and 
to  the  death,  and  loyal ;  the  love,  not  to  be  bought  or  counter- 
feited, that  touches  common  things  with  radiance. 

Rupert  was  giddy  with  it  all.  He  had  only  to  stoop  and 
claim  her,  without  question  asked  or  answered.  And  yet  he 
would  not.  He  fought  against  this  sudden  warmth  that 
tempted  him  to  forget  his  friends — those  driven  comrades 
who  trusted  him  to  see  them  safely  on  board  ship  to  the  French 
coast.  He  put  Nance  away,  as  a  courtier  might  who  fears  to 
hurt  his  queen,  and  only  the  strength  of  him  redeemed  his 
ludicrous  and  muddied  clothes. 

"  You  are  not  proved  yet?  "  said  Nance,  with  a  gentle  laugh 
of  raillery  and  comradeship.  "And  yet  the  men  who  come 
in  from  the  Highlands — the  men  we  have  helped  to  safety, 
Lady  Royd  and  I — bring  another  tale  of  you." 

Good  women  and  bad  are  keen  to  play  the  temptress  when 
they  see  a  man  hard  set  by  the  peril  of  his  own  wind-driven, 
eager  heart ;  for  Eve  dies  hard  in  any  woman. 

"There  are  others,"  he  said  stubbornly— " loyal  men  who 
trust  me  to  bring  them  into  Edinburgh." 

"  Scruples  ?  "  She  mocked  him  daintily.  "  Women  are  not 
won  by  scruples." 

He  looked  at  her  with  the  disarming,  boyish  smile  that  she 
remembered  from  old  days— the  smile  which  hid  a  purpose 
hard  as  steel.  "  Then  women  must  be  lost,  Nance,"  he  an- 
swered suavely. 

Nance  looked  at  him.  He  had  changed  since  the  days  when 
her  least  whim  had  swayed  him  more  than  did  the  giving  of 
her  whole  heart  now.  He  was  steady  and  unyielding,  like  a 
rock  against  which  the  winds  beat  idly.  And  suddenly  a 
loneliness  came  over  her,  a  wild  impatience  of  men's  outlook. 
She  recalled  the  day  at  Windyhough,  just  after  Sir  Jasper  had 
ridden  out,  when  Lady  Royd  had  complained  that  honour  was 


398  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

more  to  a  man  than  wife-love  and  his  home's  need  of  him. 
She  remembered  how,  with  a  girl's  untutored  zeal,  she  had 
blamed  Sir  Jasper's  wife  because  she  could  not  realise  the 
high  romance  of  it.  But  now  she  understood. 

"You  rode  out  to  prove  yourself — for  my  sake  and  the 
Cause?"  she  said,  with  cool  disdain. 

"  Yes,  Nance." 

"And  you  found — adventure.  And  your  name  is  one  to 
kindle  hero-worship  wherever  loyal  fugitives  meet  and  speak 
of  you.  Oh,  you  shall  have  your  due,  Rupert!  But  in  the 
doing  of  it  the  hard  endeavour  grew  dear  in  itself — dearer  than 
life,  than — than  little  Nance  Demaine,  for  whose  sake  you  got 
to  horse." 

He  flushed,  knowing  she  spoke  truth;  and  he  stood  at  bay, 
ashamed  of  what  should  have  been  his  pride.  And  then  he  re- 
turned, by  habit,  to  the  mood  taught  him  by  night-riding  and 
the  over-arching  skies. 

"  Men  love  that  way,"  he  said  bluntly. 

Nance  was  twisting  and  untwisting  the  kerchief  she  held 
between  her  capable,  strong  fingers.  She  had  not  guessed  till 
now  the  bitterness  of  tongue  she  could  command. 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  dear ;  we  learned  it  together,  did  we  not,  in 
the  library  at  Windyhough?  There  was  a  book  of  Richard 
Lovelace,  his  poems,  and  he  was  very  graceful  when  he  bade 
his  wife  farewell: 

"'I  could  not  love  thee,  dear,  so  much 
Loved  I  not  honour  more.' 

And  honour  took  him  to  the  open — to  the  rousing  hunt — and 
his  wife  stayed  on  at  home." 

Rupert,  unskilled  in  the  lore  that  has  tempted  many  fools 
afield,  was  dismayed  by  the  attack.  In  his  simplicity,  he  had 
looked  for  praise  when  he  put  temptation  by  him  and  asked 
only  for  a  God-speed  till  the  road  of  his  plain  duty  was  ended 
and  he  was  free  to  claim  her.  He  did  not  know — how  should 


LOVE  IN  EXILE  399 

he?— that  women  love  best  the  gifts  that  never  reach  their 
feet. 

"Nance,"  he  said,  "what  ails  you  women?  It  was  so  at 
Windyhough,  when  the  Loyal  Meet  rode  out,  and  mother 
cried  as  if  they'd  found  dishonour." 

"  What  ails  us  ?  "  She  was  not  bitter  now,  but  helpless,  and 
her  eyes  were  thick  with  tears.  "Our  birthright  ails  us. 
We're  like  children  crying  in  the  dark,  and  the  night's  lonely 
round  us,  and  we  are  far  from  home.  And  the  strong  hand 
comes  to  us,  and  we  cast  it  off,  because  we  need  its  strength. 
And  then  we  go  crying  in  the  dark  again,  and  wonder  why 
God  made  us  so.  And — and  that  is  what  ails  us,"  she  added, 
with  a  flash  of  sharp,  defiant  humour.  And  her  eyes  clouded 
suddenly.  "  I — I  have  lost  a  father  to  the  Cause.  It  is  hard 
to  be  brave  these  days,  Rupert." 

So  then  he  looked  neither  before  nor  after,  but  took  the 
straight  way  and  the  ready  with  her.  And  by  and  by  the 
yapping  of  a  pampered  dog  broke  the  silence  of  the  house, 
and  Lady  Royd's  voice  sounded,  low  and  querulous,  from  the 
stairhead. 

"  Nance,  where  are  you  ?  Poor  Fido  is  not  well — not  well 
at  all." 

For  the  moment  Rupert  believed  that  he  was  home  at 
Windyhough  again.  Fido's  bark,  the  need  paramount  that  his 
wants  must  be  served  at  once,  were  like  old  days. 

"  They  have  not  told  her  you  are  here,"  said  Nance.  "  I'll 
run  up  and  break  the  news." 

When  Rupert  came  into  the  parlour  up  above,  Fido,  true  to 
old  habit,  ran  yapping  round  him,  and  bit  his  riding-boots ;  for 
he  hated  men,  because  they  knew  him  for  a  lap-dog.  And, 
after  the  din  had  died  down  a  little,  Rupert  stepped  to  his 
mother's  side,  and  stooped  to  kiss  her  hand.  And  she  looked 
him  up  and  down;  and  the  motherhood  in  her  was  keen 
and  proved,  but  she  could  forego  old  habits  as  little  as  could 
Fido. 

"  Dear   heart,   what  clothes  to  wear  in  Edinburgh ! "   she 


400  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

cried.  "  It's  as  well  you're  not  known  in  the  town  for  a 
Royd." 

"  Yes,  it's  as  well,  mother,"  he  answered  dryly. 

"  You  are  thinner  than  you  were,  Rupert,  and  straighter  in 
the  shoulders,  and — and  many  things  have  happened  to  you." 

"  I  rode  out  for  happenings." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you're  so  like  your  father ;  and  they  tell  me  what 
you've  done " 

"  And  you,  mother  ?  "  he  broke  in.  "  There  are  gentlemen 
of  the  Prince's  who  would  not  be  safe  in  France  to-day  with- 
out your  help — yours  and  Nance's." 

"  There,  my  dear,  you  fatigue  me !  I  have  done  so  little. 
It  grew  dull  in  Lancashire,  waiting  for  news  of  your  father. 
It  was  all  so  simple — Fido,  my  sweet,  you  will  not  bark  at 
Rupert;  he's  a  friend — and  then  I  had  my  own  fortune,  you 
see,  apart  from  Windyhough,  and  one  must  spend  money 
somehow,  must  one  not?  So  I  began  playing  at  ships — just 
like  a  child  gone  back  to  the  nursery — and  Nance  here  was  as 
big  a  baby  as  myself." 

If  Rupert  had  changed,  so  had  Lady  Royd.  There  was  no 
faded  prettiness  now  about  her  face,  but  there  were  lines  of 
beauty.  Behind  her  light  handling  of  these  past  weeks  in 
Edinburgh  there  was  a  record  of  sleepless  nights,  of  harassed 
days,  of  discomfort  and  peril  undertaken  willingly.  She  had 
spent  money  in  providing  means  of  passage  for  the  exiles; 
but  she  had  spent  herself,  too,  in  ceaseless  stratagem  and 
watchfulness. 

"  It  was  all  so  piquant,"  she  went  on,  in  the  old,  indolent 
tone.  "  So  many  gallant  men  supped  here,  Rupert,  before 
taking  boat.  And  they  brought  each  his  tale  of  battle  in  the 
hills.  And  their  disguises  were  so  odd,  almost  as  odd  as  the 
clothes  you're  wearing  now,  my  dear." 

"  The  Prince's  were  little  better  when  I  last  saw  him," 
laughed  the  other. 

"  Ah,  now,  you  will  sit  down  beside  me — here — and  Nance 
shall  sit  there,  like  Desdemona  listening  to  Othello.  And  you 


LOVE  IN  EXILE  401 

will  tell  us  of  the  Prince.     You  were  very  near  his  person  dur- 
ing the  Highland  flight,  they  tell  me." 

So  Rupert,  because  he  had  that  one  night's  leisure  at  com- 
mand, forgot  his  own  perils  in  telling  of  the  Stuart's.  He  had 
no  art  of  narrative,  except  the  soldier's  plain  telling  of  what 
chanced;  but,  step  by  step,  he  led  them  through  the  broken 
days,  talking  seldom  of  himself,  but  constantly  of  Prince 
Charles  Edward,  until  the  bare  record  of  their  wanderings  be- 
came a  lively  and  abiding  tribute  to  the  Stuart's  strength. 
And  when  he  had  done  Lady  Royd  was  crying  softly,  while 
Nance  felt  a  strange  loyalty  play  round  her  like  a  windy  night 
about  the  moors  of  Lancashire. 

"  He  was  like  that !  "  said  Lady  Royd  at  last.  "  He  was 
like  that,  while,  God  forgive  me !  I  was  picturing  him  all  the 
while  in  love-locks,  dancing  a  minuet." 

"  The  sword-dance  is  better  known,  mother,  where  we  have 
been,"  said  Rupert,  with  pleasant  irony. 

Late  that  night,  when  Nance  had  left  them  together  for  a 
while,  Lady  Royd  came  and  laid  a  hand  on  her  son's  arm. 
"  You  have  done  enough,"  she  said.  "  Oh,  I  know !  There 
are  still  many  broken  men,  waiting  for  a  passage.  They  must 
take  their  chance,  Rupert.  Your  father  was  not  ashamed  to 
cross  to  France,  with  my  help." 

He  put  an  arm  about  her,  for  he  had  learned  tenderness  in 
a  hard  school.  "  Mother,  he  was  not  ashamed,  because  his 
work  was  done  here.  Mine  is  not.  What  Oliphant  knew  of 
the  byways — what  the  last  months  have  taught  me — I  cannot 
take  the  knowledge  with  me,  to  rust  in  France.  I  am  pledged 
to  these  gentry  of  the  Prince's." 

"Then  I  shall  go  on  playing  at  ships  here — till  you  come 
to  ask  a  passage." 

And  her  face  was  resolute  and  proud,  as  if  this  son  of  hers 
had  returned  a  conqueror. 

The  next  day,  after  nightfall,  Rupert  went  out  again,  through 
Edinburgh's  moonlit  streets,  toward  the  northern  hills  and  the 
perils  that  he  .coveted.  And  just  before  he  went  Nance  De- 


402  THE  LONE  ADVENTURE 

maine  came  down  into  the  hall,  and  stood  beside  him  in  the 
gusty  candle-light  Old  days  and  new  were  tangled  in  her 
mind ;  she  was  aware  only  of  a  great  heart-sickness  and  trouble, 
so  that  she  did  not  halt  to  ask  herself  if  it  were  maidenly  or 
prudent  to  come  down  for  another  long  goodbye.  In  some 
muddled  way  she  remembered  Will  Underwood,  his  debonair 
and  easy  claiming  of  her  kerchief,  remembered  their  meeting 
on  the  heath,  and  afterwards  Will  lying  in  the  courtyard  at 
Windyhough,  his  body  tortured  by  a  gaping  wound.  She  had 
given  him  her  kerchief  then  for  pity,  and  now  Rupert  was  go- 
ing out  without  claiming  the  token  she  would  have  given  him 
for  love.  Rupert  seemed  oddly  forgetful  of  little  things  these 
days,  she  told  herself. 

"  Would  you  not  wear  my  favour — for  luck  ?  "  she  asked. 

And  then,  giving  no  time  for  answer,  she  began  feverishly 
to  knot  her  kerchief  into  a  white  cockade ;  and  then  again  she 
thought  better  of  it,  and  untied  the  blue  scarf  that  was  her 
girdle,  and  snipped  a  piece  from  it  with  the  scissors  hanging 
at  her  waist. 

"  It  is  the  dear  Madonna's  colour ;  and  I  think  you  ride  for 
faith,"  she  said,  with  a  child's  simplicity.  "  Rupert,  I  do  not 
know  how  or  why,  but  I  let  you  go  very  willingly.  I  did  not 
understand  until  to-night  how — how  big  a  man's  love  for  a 
woman  is." 

They  were  not  easy  days  that  followed.  Rupert  was  among 
the  Midlothian  hills — farther  afield  sometimes — snatching  sleep 
and  food  when  he  could,  shepherding  the  broken  gentry,  leav- 
ing nothing  undone  that  a  man's  strength  and  single  purpose 
could  accomplish.  And  in  the  house  near  Holyrood  Lady 
Royd  and  Nance  were  helping  the  fugitives  he  sped  forward  to 
get  on  shipboard.  And  ever,  as  they  plied  this  trade  of  separa- 
tion under  peril,  a  knowledge  and  a  trust  went  up  and  down 
between  Edinburgh  and  the  northern  hills — a  trust  that  did 
not  go  on  horseback  or  on  foot,  because  its  wings  were 
stretched  for  flight  above  ground. 

And  near  the  year's  end,  with  an  easterly  haar  that  made  the 


LOVE  IN  EXILE  40S 

town  desolate,  the  last  fugitive  came  to  the  house  that  lay 
near  Holyrood.  He  should  have  been  spent  with  well-doing, 
footsore  and  saddle-sore  with  journeyings  among  the  hills; 
but,  instead  he  carried  himself  as  if  he  had  found  abundant 
health. 

"  I've  done  my  work,  mother,"  he  said,  stooping  to  Lady 
Royd's  hand. 

"  It's  as  well,  my  dear.  Nance  and  I  were  nearly  tired  of 
playing  at  ships." 

That  night  they  got  aboard  at  Leith ;  and,  after  a  contrary 
and  troubled  crossing,  they  'came  into  harbour  on  the  French 
coast.  The  night  was  soft  and  pleasant,  like  the  promises 
that  France  had  made  the  Stuart — the  promises  made  and 
broken  a  score  of  times  before  ever  the  Prince  landed  in  the 
Western  Isles.  A  full  moon  was  making  a  track  of  amethyst 
and  gold  across  the  gentle  seas,  and  a  faint,  salt  breeze  was 
blowing. 

"  Are  you  content  ?  "  asked  Nance. 

"Content?     My  dear,  what  else?" 

And  yet  she  saw  his  glance  rove  out  across  the  moonlit  track 
that  led  to  England;  and  a  jealous  trouble,  light  as  the  sea- 
breeze,  crossed  her  happiness;  and  she  conquered  it,  because 
she  had  learned  in  Edinburgh  the  way  of  a  man's  heart. 

"You're  dreaming  of  the  next  Rising?"  she  said,  with  a 
low,  tranquil  laugh.  "  I  shall  forgive  you— so  long  as  you 
let  me  share  your  dreams." 


FINIS 


A     000129578     1 


